Little Slave
by RaisingAmara
Summary: Sam's first serious girlfriend is two years older and a world wiser than the youngest Winchester. She also has a secret. Sam's girl likes to play rough. Dean doesn't like it - even worse - he's not sure Sam likes it either. Warning for graphic content.
1. Chapter 1

Dean was pretty sure if the scene playing out in front of him got any more precious, he was going to hurl all over the pretty new carpet Bobby had just had installed in the living room.

Sam and the younger girl he was tutoring in math sat close together on Bobby's vintage couch, heads bent over a single book. But every time Sam looked away, the girl took the opportunity to study the taller boy with unconcealed adoration. It had happened at least six times in the last half hour, and it was all Dean could do not to blow chunks of cheeseburger all over the precious pair.

It wasn't that Sam needed a chaperone with the kid; the girl was just fourteen to his sixteen, and much too young to capture Sam's interest, but Dean was antsy. He needed to corral his brother for shooting practice before Dad got home and kicked his ass for forgetting. Dean thought that by planting himself conspicuously in the room, his clueless brother might actually get the message.

And then Dean chuckled to himself. Sam's middle name was oblivious. He could tell the kid had no idea that the girl beside him was smitten. To Sam, this was a study session, nothing more. And if the kid couldn't notice the hearts and puppy eyes being broadcast to him from six inches away, how could be expected to notice that Dean was rapidly becoming unhinged?

The older boy sighed and gave up. He rose and stalked to the kitchen, irritated, where he was met by one amused adopted uncle.

"Aww. Ain't it cute?" Bobby teased, upending a tray of apple muffins onto a platter.

Dean rolled his eyes. "It ain't funny, Bobby. If Dad gets home and finds out Sam hasn't done his shooting practice, he'll kick both our asses." Dean sat glumly down at the vinyl-cloth-covered table and consoled himself by shoving an entire muffin in his mouth.

Bobby chuckled, "Calm down, Dean, and let the kid live a little. It's only schoolwork for heaven's sake. It ain't like your brother's goofing off with a pack of friends and an Atari. He's helpin' the girl get a handle on her algebra."

Dean was going to reply that Dad wouldn't give a shit if Sam was building the Great Wall of China if he missed shooting practice to do it, but he was interrupted by Sam himself. The lanky kid galumphed into the kitchen on giraffe legs, stumbled once over the door jam, and landed in the chair next to Dean. He followed his brother's lead by stuffing a whole confection inside his mouth in one bite.

Bobby stood looking, shaking his head. "Raised in a damned barn." He grumbled, turning away to check on the progress of the chicken he had baking in the oven.

"You done?" Dean asked, glancing around for Sam's companion. When he didn't see her, he wrestled his brother into a headlock, grinning sadistically.

"Dean!" Sam complained, extricating himself and giving his brother a glower. "Just getting a snack. Delia's big sister'll be here in a minute to pick her up." He grabbed a muffin for Nancy and moved toward the doorway, but the sudden appearance of a tall, leggy blond in a cheerleader costume halted him in his tracks, and the two nearly collided.

The girl looked as surprised as Sam, but she recovered sooner. She took a long look at Sam standing there with his height and his rebellious hair, smelling like Dean's aftershave and apple muffins, and her eyes lit up like beacons.

"Well, hello!" She smiled. "You wouldn't be Sam, by any chance?"

Sam stuttered, "Uh, y-yeah. Are you Veronica?"

"Guilty!" she giggled, walking her fingers up Sam's arm flirtatiously. "I just wanted to say thanks for helping the midget with her algebra. If she flunks one more test, Dad will disown her."

Dean stood by, trying not to stare with his mouth open. Veronica was the hottest chick he'd seen since Fort Worth, and for whatever reason, she seemed to have made an instant connection with his little brother.

Fudge!

"And it's Ronnie, by the way. At least for you, Sam." The girl leaned her long, lean body against him, reached up and tried to give him a peck on the cheek, but he was too tall. He leaned down a bit sheepishly to give her better access, and she completed the move.

Sam thought she smelled like sunshine and maybe Heaven.

"Uh, sure … uh, no problem," he smiled, completely entranced. "Uh, this is my uncle Bobby and my brother Dean." He looked to Dean, "This is Delia's sister, Veronica."

Dean nodded and Bobby smiled. "Nice to meet you, Veronica."

"Same here!" She responded enthusiastically. "When Delia said she had a tutor, I had no idea she was working with a Greek god, for heaven's sake! You got a girlfriend, Sam?" She asked, bold as you please, smiling up at him as she toyed with the pendant on her necklace.

"N-no. No, we, uh, we just got to town a little over a week ago." He stammered.

Her eyes lit up again. "Good! Well, I got dibs, okay? You'd like to take me to the senior dance next weekend, wouldn't you?"

Sam gulped, terrified eyes seeking Dean's for help. "Uh … I … uh."

Dean saw the desperation and tried to help, "Sam, remember Dad talked about you helping him with the car next weekend? Maybe you should ask him before you go making any definite plans." he turned to Veronica. "Maybe he could get your number and call you back? Dad's a bit of a hardass. You know how that goes." he smiled.

Impossibly, Ronnie smiled and pouted at the same time. "You better get my number, Sam. Here, give me your hand." She reached out and grabbed it, holding it so it was palm up in her own. She pulled an eyeliner from her pocket and crowded Sam close as she wrote her number on his palm in slow, deliberate strokes. When she was done, she held onto his hand for a moment, gazing up at him. "Call me if it's okay, promise?" She asked, suddenly shy.

And Sam's heart melted into a little puddle at her well-tanned and toned feet.

"Okay. I definitely will." he said, grinning. "Ronnie."

She grinned back at him suddenly, reaching up and placing a hand behind his head. She tugged him down and kissed him lightly on the lips, tasting like strawberries. "I'll be waiting." She winked, and pulled away.

"Nice to meet you, and thanks again for letting Deel study here." She included them all in her smile, and then she was gone. A moment later, they heard the crunch of car tires over gravel as she backed out and pulled away.

Sam stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking blindsided, his face flushed a bright pink. He met Dean's eyes, looking lost, and the older boy took pity on him. Dean smiled, ignoring the sudden warning bell clanging in the back of his mind. He moved over and tossed an arm over Sam's shoulder, "Well, Sasquatch, if you gotta catch the eye of a forward girl, let it be a cheerleader, I say." He walked Sam toward the doorway, catching Bobby's concerned frown from the corner of his eye.


	2. Love Hurts

Ronnie shoved Sam into the janitor's closet and pushed him up against the wall so forcefully that his breath left him in a pained chuff. Then she was on him, fingers digging forcefully into his chin, lips covering his own. She buried her free hand in his hair and tightened her grip painfully until she heard him make a sound. Then she smiled, sucked his lower lip into her mouth and bit down hard.

Sam's eyes shot open as he felt her bite his lip hard enough to draw blood. He tried to back away then, but there was nowhere to go, and he felt a little silly anyway. Any boy in school would practically kill to get next to Ronnie, and here he was trying to push her away.

So she was a little rough. So was Sam. He could take it. He tried to kiss her back when she released his injured lip, but she just pulled back and giggled. Hand still in his hair, she began tugging his head backward, running kisses all up and down his neck.

"You like that?" Ronnie kept a running commentary. "Feels good, right? Like it when I make it hurt a little? Makes you feel alive, doesn't it, Sam?" He was trying to find any words that weren't pained grunts when she suddenly sucked the skin of this neck between her teeth so hard that it popped when she released it.

It was all Sam could do not to scream as she repeated the action three more times along the skin of his neck and once high up on his chest. Her hands were on him everywhere, and as good as that felt, the level of pain she was inducing with her teeth was distracting. He'd heard of people who enjoyed making out more if pain was involved, but he was pretty sure he wasn't one of them.

When Ronnie suddenly stepped back, grinned seductively and slapped him hard across the cheek, Sam's eyes teared, and he had to tighten his hands into fists to keep from hurting her back.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, her ferocity waned. She snuggled up against him, placed a gentle kiss on his lips and brushed his hair lovingly from his face.

"Can't wait til tonight, baby." She whispered in his ear.

Then she was gone, and Sam was alone in the janitor's closet, his lip, face and neck on fire.

###

Dean eyed his brother suspiciously. Something was off with Sam. Here he was, dating the hottest chick in Franklin Heights High, and yet you'd never know it. He never talked about walking her to class or about carrying her books to the bus in the afternoon, never mentioned whether he sat with her at lunch. But nearly every night, she showed up at Bobby's in her little cheerleader uniform, pulling Sam's hands to coax him into a romantic walk around the yard, or asking him to sit out on the porch swing with her to watch the sun set over Singer Salvage.

If Dean was in his place - just sixteen with the best-looking senior girl hanging on his every word and off his arm? Oh, hell yeah, he'd be crowing.

But Sam? Sam was just … quiet. In fact, he was almost too quiet, and Dean wondered, for the millionth time, what Sam was kicking around inside that mess of cobwebs he called a brain.

Dean suspected it had something to do with the mess where his kid brother's face used to be. Sam's bottom lip was swollen and cut, and he had a hell of a bruise on his right cheek. Obviously, he'd been in a fight, but he hadn't mentioned it.

And when Dean's eyes had widened, and he'd questioned Sam, the kid just shrugged and said he didn't want to talk about it.

So okay. That was how it was going to be. It irked Dean to be left out of the loop that way, but Sam was sixteen now, and the older boy realized that if there was trouble at school, Sam wanted to handle it in his own way.

Still, he sympathized. He'd gotten a good look at the bruises along Sam's neck and cringed. That had to have hurt. It looked like someone had taken a slingshot to his kid brother's tender skin. If Dean ever saw that shit going down …

"Sammy."

Sam looked up from his history book, distracted, "Hmm?"

"Come on, give. What's it like dating the hottest chick in school?" Dean teased, hoping for at least a few details.

Sam smiled, "It's … it's kinda weird, honestly."

Dean frowned. Of all the possible replies he'd expected, weird wasn't one.

"Weird? Why weird?"

Sam shrugged, "I don't know. Ronnie could have any senior she wanted. Why is she bothered with me? I'm a lowly sophomore."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Cause you got the Winchester genes, Sammy. Don't fight it. It will be better if you just roll with it, little brother. Life made you irresistible to women. The sooner you realize it, the better off you'll be. Take it from big bro, the ladies love us, Sammy."

Sam snorted. "Right Dean. Girls love gigantically tall guys who trip over their own feet every day in the hallway."

Dean grinned, "Well apparently. I mean, Ronnie all but jumped your bones the first time she saw you in the kitchen, Sam. Hell, if Bobby and I hadn't been there, she might have just tossed you down on the floor and went to town."

Dean meant it as a joke, but he swore he saw Sam shiver before he buried his face back inside his history book. He frowned. What the hell was up with the kid?

###

"So, you wanna go for a walk?" Ronnie asked, tugging at Sam's hand playfully. The couple had just finished Bobby's dinner of western omelets and sausage, and the sky over the salvage yard was turning the last pink of the day.

Sam smiled down at the beautiful girl before him and wondered what she possibly saw in him. When she put her hands on him, she made him feel things like he'd never even imagined, and he wondered if maybe he wasn't already a little in love with her.

"Sure." He answered, pulling her close into an embrace as the two walked off toward the garage, tangled up together like tumbleweeds.

From the window overlooking the kitchen sink, Dean shook his head, "What were we sayin' about precious?" He asked Bobby, rolling his eyes.

The old hunter snorted, "That brother of yours must be downright cuddly."

Dean chuckled, "Well, Ronnie seems to think so anyway."

"What say we leave the damned dishes and sit outside with a beer? Not gonna be too many more nights like this one."

Dean's eyes lit up. "You had me at beer, Bobby." He said, reaching into the ancient machine that passed for a refrigerator and tossing his uncle a longneck. He kept one for himself, twisting the cap and tossing it into the trash. He took a long pull as the two ambled outside and settled down on the dusty porch steps.

Bobby lowered his bottle. "It's good to see the kid finally having some fun."

Dean was silent for a moment. "He's earned it. About damned time his true potential revealed itself. I was startin' to worry."

Bobby grunted, "Reflectin' poorly on the Winchester image, was he?"

"Hell yeah. All that reading and researching? Thought the kid was gonna spend the rest of his life alone in the library. Turns out, all it took was a little aggressiveness to snap him right out of it."

Bobby's eyes widened as he nodded, "Aggressive is one way to describe it."

"I know, right?" Dean expelled a pent-up breath. "I thought I was the only one who noticed?"

Bobby shook his head, "No, you ain't the only one. Have to blind not to see that one coming a mile away."

"Sometimes I think it might be too much for him."

Bobby was silent, thinking the same thing, but reluctant to voice it. "Sam's almost a man now. He can surely handle himself around a girl, right?"

But as Dean stared off in the direction that his brother and Ronnie had gone, with something churning in his stomach that felt awfully close to anxiety, he wasn't so sure.


	3. She Needs This, Dean

In his room, on his bed, Ronnie's flushed face stared down at him. "Sammy, please … I … I need this."

Sam's eyes closed as he lost himself in the feel of her warm hands on his flesh. She smelled like the most delicious fruity flower, and the things he was learning that she could do with her hands, with her mouth, were just insane.

He was in love. There was no other word for it. He was in love, and he'd let her do anything she wanted if it meant she'd keep on touching him like this forever. If it meant her strong, tanned legs tangled up with his own and her soft, lean body pressed against him.

"Anything, Ronnie," he breathed, his eyes closed. "Anything you want, I swear."

She kissed him hungrily, "You're sure?"

Oh, Sam was sure. Sure he would die if she stopped what she was doing right now.

But when he felt the cold steel cuff lock over his right wrist, Sam's eyes came open. "Wait …" He said, panicking.

"Shh, baby. I'll make it hurt so good." She promised, trailing a line of kisses down his neck. "I promise, Sammy. It'll be good, okay?"

Sam was trying not to hyperventilate as she slipped the second cuff into place and affixed them both firmly to his headboard. "Wait, Ronnie … just wait … please …" Sam couldn't get his breath, couldn't … couldn't survive the way she was making him feel.

And honestly, the cuffs just kind of made it all seem hotter.

"I need this, Sam. Please let me." She breathed in his ear, her hands mapping out his body.

"What, Ronnie?" Sam gasped quietly, "What do you need?"

"I need … I need … to hurt you." She confessed, and Sam tried not to scream as his own belt made sharp, sudden contact with his skin.

###

"Sam?" She breathed, patting his cheeks to bring him back from the edge of the abyss. "Sammy? You okay, baby?"

But Sam couldn't speak. His body, across his chest where she'd hit him, was in agony. He'd had no idea that pain like that existed in the world. She'd done that - hurt him, and she'd made him feel good at the same time. It felt like his body had betrayed him, like he had no control. He hated her.

He loved her.

She'd hurt him.

She was crying.

"Sammy? Please? Baby, just tell me you're okay? I didn't … Sam, I didn't mean to, I swear!" Hot tears dripped onto his tender skin. "I just … I have this need. I have to hurt you to feel it! Please don't hate me. Tell me you don't hate me!"

Sam tried, but all he could get out was a guttural sound that mimicked some wounded animal.

He was sure he was dying.

###

"What the hell happened to you?" Dean asked, stepping over to the couch and looking down. Sam sat huddled into himself, shivering, his shoulders drawn forward, hot tears streaking his face. Dean saw them, and his heart broke a little. Sam hadn't cried in years - at least, not where anyone could see.

Dean knelt down in front of his brother, studying his face, he placed a strong hand over Sam's quaking one. "Sammy, what's going on, man? Tell me."

Sam was taking short, agonized breaths that looked like rib trouble to Dean, and his first thought was bullies. Someone had waylaid Sam on his way home from school and beaten him but good, and Dean saw red.

"Let me see, Sam." He demanded, grasping the hem of his brother's hoodie. But Sam folded in on himself so completely that pulling the garment up and over was out of the question. The action made him hiss in pain, and the boy let out a sob.

"Dammit, Sam. You tell me who did this. I'm gonna kick some ass. You hear me?" Dean stood looking down. "Who's giving you trouble? How many?"

Sam shook his head as his sobs became audible, and Dean stood by helplessly.

"Sammy. Come on, man. Who did this? You know I'll take care of it. Nobody hurts you and gets to walk away. You know that. I'll make sure whoever's responsible never bothers you again. I promise."

Sam shook his head. "I … don't want to not be bothered." He said brokenly, looking up at his brother with pleading eyes. "Dean, I … I need her. I think … I think maybe I love her!"

Dean frowned, "Was this about Ronnie? Did you get in a fight with someone over Ronnie?" He sank down next to his brother on the couch and sighed. Girl trouble. Girl trouble was the worst.

Sam shook his head. Slowly he unfolded himself and tried to tug up the front of his sweatshirt. He couldn't though, and the move just made him hiss again.

"Easy, here. I got it." Dean said, pulling Sam's hem gently skyward. And when he finally got a glimpse of the damage to his brother's chest, Dean swore.

"Son of a bitch, Sam! They beat you with a belt?" Dean guessed, surveying the angry, red welts that covered Sam's torso in a criss cross pattern. He met Sam's eyes. "Who? You tell me right now, dammit!"

Sam was crying silently, his eyes swollen, nose runny. He looked pathetically at Dean and whispered a single name.

"Ronnie."

###

Dean stared. "What?"

"Ronnie." Sam whispered again. "Dean … she … she says she needs this. I can't … she needs this, Dean."

"You tellin' me Ronnie did this shit? She beat you with a belt?"

Sam nodded.

And Dean exploded from the couch. "What the hell, man! Why'd you let her do that? Did you hit her back?"

Sam shook his head miserably, another sob escaping.

Dean's heart clenched. "Sammy …" he said softly.

"She … I was … she had cuffs."

Dean's eyes went huge. "She cuffed you? To what?"

"My bed."

Dean paled. "So she cuffed you to your bed and then beat you with a belt? This was a … a sex … thing? You were playing?"

Sam nodded.

"Shit, Sam!" Dean paced, pissed beyond words. "I leave for one afternoon, and … I mean … What kind of crazy fuck is she?"

"Dean! Don't!" Sam warned, looking up.

"Don't what? Don't hate the crazy bitch? Too late, Sam!"

Sam was approaching desperation. "People do it, Dean! They do it and like it! I just … you know … I have to get … used to it!"

"The hell!" Dean raged. "You don't have to get used to it, Sam! Nobody has to get used to getting the shit beat out of them with a belt! That's not how it works! Yeah, there are people who enjoy playing like that, but this isn't how it's done! She's got it all wrong!"

"What … like I mean … how?" Sam stammered.

Dean sighed, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "Like, did you have a safe word?" And Dean could tell by the look on his brother's face that he had no idea.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Dean growled. "Sam, this … this wasn't … sex play. This was assault. Do you see the difference? This was the same thing as a husband beatin' his wife. It's not how it works."

Sam stared at his brother, and his eyes filled again, spilling over. "I don't understand how anyone could like it." He shook his head. "I don't!"

Dean was on the verge of shedding a few man tears himself, and it pissed him off royally. "Because she did it wrong! And because you're not into that scene, Sam! You can't just … force that on someone. That's just wrong!"

Sam sat, staring at nothing, he looked up at Dean. "What do I do?"

"You stay the hell away from her! What do you mean, what do you do?"

"I c-can't."

"Why not?"

Sam shrugged.

"Sam? Why not? You like being beat?"

Sam shook his head vehemently.

"What then?"

Sam looked up, pleading, "She needs this, Dean."

Dean stared, "She needs therapy, is what she needs. You can't fix her, Sam. Don't even think you can."

"But I love her." Sam said quietly, misery evident all over his face. "Dean, I love her, and if she needs this sometimes … I mean … most of the time, she's amazing. She's kind and thoughtful, and she … she brags me up to her friends. She … she loves me too, Dean. It's just once in awhile that … you know … this happens."

Dean blinked, "So it's happened before, is what you're saying?" Then his eyes widened as realization struck. "That's how you got the split lip and the bruise on your cheek? She put those marks on your neck, too?"

Sam nodded miserably.

And Dean seethed. "It's over, Sam. You hear me? That crazy chick ever darkens this door again, and she deals with me. This shit is DONE." He tried to glare at Sam, but the kid looked so miserable that he couldn't do it. Instead, he sat gently down beside his brother on the couch and mussed the kid's hair affectionately. "Now come on, geek boy, let me fix you. AGAIN." Dean teased, as he reached for the med kit. "Full-time job, I swear ... I leave for one afternoon ..."


	4. Ain't No Fixin' That

Sam steeled himself as he walked up to Ronnie's locker. She was in full cheerleader uniform, her golden hair pulled back into a loose, messy ponytail that left the side strands escape to frame her face haphazardly. Sam was certain he'd never seen a more beautiful girl. Ever. He stood quietly behind her and spoke softly.

"Hey."

Ronnie looked up, a huge grin lighting her face. "Hey yourself." She answered, reaching up and pecking him on the cheek. Then she waxed serious. "Sammy … about the other day … I'm so sorry. I …"

Sam waited, wanting to hear what she had to say. He still didn't get it, didn't understand how someone could want to hurt a person they supposedly loved … like that.

"You're so … so adult. Sometimes I forget that you're just sixteen, that you … you haven't played like that before. I never meant it to go as far as it did. I swear!"

Sam swallowed, feeling as confused as he'd ever been. "Can we walk home?" He asked, knowing that what he had to say was going to take more time than they had at the lockers before the buses came.

She looked surprised, but nodded. "Of course. We need to talk, I know." She situated her book bag and slammed her locker shut, and Sam fell into an easy walk beside her. She cast him a few uneasy looks as the pair made their way outside, but Sam didn't want to talk until they were well away from prying ears. As they reached the sidewalk, he came clean.

"Dean knows."

Ronnie stopped dead. "He does?"

Sam nodded.

Ronnie swallowed. "And he hates me now?"

Sam shook his head, trying to spare her feelings, then realized he had to be truthful. "Well, he's probably not your biggest fan. Ronnie … I … I don't … like it. That stuff. It isn't me. And if it's … you know … something that you need … then maybe we shouldn't be together." Sam blinked rapidly to stay the tears he felt building at his own words.

But Ronnie had no such qualms. Her eyes filled up and spilled over immediately as she clutched at his sleeve. "I'm sorry, Sammy. It won't happen again! I swear! Don't … don't break us up, please! I love you! I've never loved anyone as much as I love you! I don't need it. I don't! Not as much as I need you!"

"Ronnie …" Sam tried to reason with her, but she cut him off.

"I'll talk to Dean, okay?"

Sam's mouth fell open before he could help it. This was … unexpected. "Oh! Oh, no, Ronnie. I don't think that's a good idea at all. It's not necessary, honest."

But she was adamant. "I will, Sam! I don't care if he yells at me or … or hits me … or anything! I just want to make things right! I don't want to lose you."

Sam chuckled at the image - Dean hitting the small, slight girl in front of him. "Dean would never hit you, Ronnie."

She shook her head. "I don't even care, Sam. I mean, maybe I even deserve it, you know? I hurt you." She covered her mouth with her hand and sobbed. "Oh Gosh, Sam! I did. I hurt you! How could I do that? What's wrong with me?"

Sam pulled her close, pressed her head gingerly to his chest and stroked her soft, silky hair. The soft scent of coconut wafted up to him, and he closed his eyes. "Shh … Hey. Don't cry, okay? There's nothing wrong with you. You didn't hurt me that badly. I'm a pretty tough guy, right?"

But she sobbed hard against his chest, unable to speak.

"Hey, Ronnie, come on. It's okay. I don't hate you. I could never hate you. You know that."

Ronnie looked up at him, face wrecked. "Can I come home with you now? Tell Dean how sorry I am? Please, Sam?"

Sam shook his head. "It's not necessary, Ronnie, honest."

"Please? Please Sammy? Let me make it right?"

And Sam wanted to say no. The last thing he wanted was his brother and Ronnie together in the same room, but she was so distraught. He just couldn't tell her no. He couldn't deny her … not anything … not ever.

He sighed. "I think this is a really bad idea, Ronnie. You don't know Dean. He's … protective. Sometimes a little too much."

She shook her head. "I don't care. Whatever he has to say, it can't be any worse than what I think about myself right now."

###

Dean was chest deep under the hood of the Impala, greasy rag in hand, when he heard voices coming up the driveway. He looked up and swore. "Sam, you dumbass!" He muttered, stepping back and quickly wiping the worst of the grease away.

But suddenly, he found himself with a chestful of cheerleader, and she was crying. Dean wrapped his arms around her immediately, his first response always to comfort a hot chick when she threw herself at him in distress. He looked up at his brother. "Sam? What the hell?"

Sam looked as uncomfortable as Dean had ever seen him. He stood silent in the driveway, shifting from foot to foot. "Uh, Ronnie …" He tried to capture the girl's attention, looking helplessly at Dean. "Ronnie … you … uh. It's okay."

She shook her head against Dean's chest. "It's not! I hurt you, Sam! I hurt you so much!" She suddenly pulled back and looked up at Dean. "Dean, I'm so sorry! I won't ever do it again. I promise! Please? You can … you can say whatever you want to me. I can take it. I know I deserve it!"

Dean shook his head, loosening his arms and trying to back away. "Listen, uh … "

Ronnie let him go. She stood alone, looking miserable, devastated eyes locked on Dean's. Suddenly, she set her book bag on the ground and unclipped the long, leather shoulder strap. "Dean! I can make it right. I can!" She said, standing up and offering it to him. "Here! You can use this. It's not … not as heavy as Sam's belt, but … but it will hurt. Go ahead." She put the strap in his hand, and he took it, not realizing what she meant. He looked at the girl as she stood there, smiling at him through tears.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" He asked, his eyes going to Sam, who just shrugged. Neither boy had any idea what the slight girl meant.

"You can hit me with it." She explained, like she'd just said the sky was looking mighty blue today. She glanced around, her eyes landing on the old garage. "In there. Come on." She tugged the bottom of her cheerleader shirt up and over and stood there in a pink bra with a kitten embroidered on the right cup.

Dean gaped, his face paling to the color of snow. He looked at the young woman standing in front of him in her underwear, crying, and realized he still held the leather strap. He dropped the offensive thing and backed away like it was alive and trying to bite him, his horrified eyes meeting Sam's. "Yeah, I'm gonna go throw up now." He said, and stalked up the steps and into the house, letting the screen door slam behind him.

###

Dean turned from the sink as Sam entered the house alone a half-hour later. The older boy struggled for words. "Sammy … man. You gotta let this one go." He begged, shaking his head.

"I know." Sam agreed, flopping into a kitchen chair.

Dean sat down at the table across from him. "You tell a counselor at school, or tell her mom or tell … tell a damned cop, and then you get the hell out. There ain't no fixin' that, Sam. Not without years of counseling."

"I know."

Dean studied his brother, feeling sorry for him. "I"ll go with you if you want."

Sam shook his head. "No. I"ll go to Mrs. Jefferies at school. She's the counselor. She's nice."

"Good." Dean shook his head again, relieved, taking a sip of coffee.

"It's just …"

"What?"

Well … the senior dance."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "What about it?"

Sam's eyes pleaded, "I promised, Dean!"

Dean sat back, flabbergasted, "You serious? You can't be serious."

Sam's eyes pleaded with Dean to understand. "I can't just back out. It's too close! I promised!"

Dean glared, this kid and his damned big heart. "Fine. You can't get out of it. I'll drive you. That's Friday night, right? I got a little party of my own lined up that night. We'll pick her up, I'll drop you both off and then come get you when it's over. You won't have to be alone with her."

Sam nodded, relieved. "Thanks, Dean."

"You owe me, Sasquatch." Dean grumbled, as Sam grinned and grabbed the last apple muffin. "I know, Dean. Put it on my tab, okay?"


	5. Senior Dance

Sam watched as his brother pulled away from the curb and drove off down the street, and for just a moment, he wanted to wave both hands over his head into the air to call him back.

Sam had a bad feeling.

He got those sometimes - mostly before a hunt that would inevitably go wrong. They were almost always accurate.

Something bad was going to happen tonight; he could feel it.

But then he turned to face his date in her little black dress and slinky heels and had to smile. She was the most gorgeous girl at the formal, at the whole school, actually. And she was there with Sam, was crazy about him. She was the first girl who'd ever touched him in an intimate way, the first girl who'd ever professed to love him ...

the first girl he'd ever loved back.

And she had her hair up piled high off her neck in a sort of chaotic cloud with tendrils that reached down and around, framing her heart-shaped face.

She'd decided to meet him here, rather than risk running into Dean. And Sam had agreed, feeling a tad awkward himself.

Sam studied her as she said hello to their friends. He could just be content just to look at her all night long, content to touch her silken hair, to inhale her perfume that, tonight, smelled just like a summer garden.

Sam wanted to waltz her away to some alternate universe where pain didn't exist and where she didn't need it so badly to feel love herself. He wanted to fix her, wanted it desperately.

But Sam was no fool.

He realized Ronnie's issues ran far deeper than he could ever begin to reach. He'd done some research into … rough sex … and realized that what she had done to him wasn't right. It hadn't been … consensual.

Not really.

And that, alone, made it wrong.

Sam knew he could never be alone with her again because he had too much trouble saying no to anything she wanted to try. When he held her close and felt her soft skin and tasted her lips … well … he shook himself.

Time to go inside.

###

Dean drove away from the school, leaving his passengers by the entrance. He looked back once to find Sam staring after him, almost like he was hoping the older boy would come back.

Like Sam wanted Dean to save him from himself.

Maybe, being the older brother, Dean should have just vetoed this night. Sam was a kid, a kid who was in love. And while Sam usually didn't have any trouble staying out of situations that put him in danger, he'd never gone up against the likes of Ronnie before.

That girl had formidable weapons.

And she knew exactly how to use them.

Of course, it didn't help that she was crazy as a bedbug, Dean was sure of it. So sure, in fact, that he'd called on his friend from the garage to give him an inside look into that scene. Joey had been a dom for years, though you'd never know it if you weren't close to him. Dean had grown up with him, off and on, since grade school. They'd gone to school together, and now they worked together at the garage in Sioux Falls. Anytime Dean was in town for any kind of extended stay, he'd look Joey up, and the two would catch up over old times.

Joey was a hoot. Even Sam loved him, and Sam had the pickiest taste of anyone Dean knew - damned accurate too. So much that Dean had learned to pick and choose his friends carefully just by the way Sam reacted to them.

The kid had excellent instincts - better than Dean even. It made him a perfect hunting partner. And then of course, there was that best little brother in the world thing. Dean would kill to protect Sam, probably had, actually. And anyone who knew them knew that.

Dean pulled up in front of Joey's nondescript, white house with blue shutters and killed the engine. It was just a few blocks from Sam's school, which made tonight the perfect time. There was a party here tonight - a bondage party - and Dean wanted to see for himself, firsthand, just how things were supposed to go in that kind of a relationship. Dean called it homework.

He made his way to the door and took a deep breath, but it burst open before he could knock, and Dean was relieved to see it was Joey who answered.

"Been watching for you." Joey winked, handing Dean an adhesive label that said "visitor."

Dean took it, staring. "This a party or a quarterly sales meeting?" Dean teased, sticking the label, somewhat sheepishly, to his jacket.

Joey grinned, "Little of both. Uh-uh, lose the jacket, Winchester. We ain't formal here, but there's no need to look like you might bolt at any second. He took Dean's jacket, peeled the label and slapped it hard onto the chest of the boy's shirt. "Ha! There. Much better."

"Ow! Shithead!" Dean rubbed his chest.

"What? That? You'll feel much worse before the night is out." Joey teased, and laughed out loud when Dean froze like a deer in headlights.

"Relax, Dean. That sticker means hands off. Nobody will proposition you tonight, I promise." Then he waxed serious. "If they do, you let me know. We have rules here. Some like to try and skate by, and that really pisses me off. This is my home. My home. My rules."

"That happen a lot?" Dean asked, curious. This crowd looked surprisingly harmless.

"Not really. There's just this one neighbor kid who likes to invite herself every time I throw one of these. She's still in high school, but she was held back or something. She's eighteen, but she has a habit of bringing underage boys to my house. I've done at least three rescues since she moved in across the block.

Dean frowned, "Rescues?" That sounded forbidding.

"It's less heroic than you might think. It's basically me, calling some boy's parents and telling them to come get him because he saw things he shouldn't have." Joey grinned, "I'm not real popular with the parents in this burg, Dean."

Dean chuckled. His eyes sweeping the crowd. This party looked like a million others he'd been to. If he didn't know that this was a different kind of gathering … he'd have no clue.

"Public playroom is downstairs, finished basement." Joey said, reading his mind.

"Oh." Dean said, smiling as a chilled bottle of beer suddenly appeared in his hand. It was the good stuff too. Dean sampled it.

Maybe there WAS something to this life, after all.

Joey interrupted his thoughts. "See, if you were playing tonight, you'd have a strict, two-beer limit. But since you're just here to learn how it goes, feel free to get shitfaced drunk." He suddenly turned to Dean, curious. "Why ARE you here, by the way? All the years we've known each other, you've never seemed interested in BDSM."

Dean swallowed, "Oh! Uh, well, there's this girl …"

And Joey slapped him hard on the back, cutting him off. "Annnnd, there it is. Ain't that always the way?" He teased. "I gotta go play gracious host. Be back around this way in 20. Mingle, Winchester. And at least try to look like you're having fun, yeah?"

###

Sam took Ronnie's arm and guided her inside the gym where the music was loud and the air way too stifling.

He tried not to cringe. School dances definitely weren't his thing, and as he swayed softly with his date to offensively loud music, he found himself wishing they were alone somewhere cool, outside maybe, with just the car radio playing softly, and the wind blowing gently through Ronnie's hair.

A scented meadow, the Impala, a moonlit night and Ronnie … Sam snorted to himself, gosh, Dean was right. He really WAS a girl.

But Ronnie read his mind. "Let's go, Sammy, please?"

Sam tensed, tried to buy time before he answered, "Hunh? Go where?"

"I live a block away. My parents are one town over, visiting my aunt and her new baby. It'd just be you and me. I promise, I won't … I won't hurt you. We could walk there, Sam, and be back before Dean picks you up."

Sam swallowed hard, his eyes closing. "No, Ronnie."

"Please Sam? If you're … you know … afraid to be alone with me, my neighbor is having a party. We could go there for a while? It'd be better than this, I promise."

"I don't think it's a good idea. I think we should stay here."

Ronnie was silent, and Sam was worried he'd hurt her feelings.

"I'm sorry." He said softly, meaning it.

"I know." She looked up at him. "I just … this is our last date, isn't it, Sam?" She asked, a sad smile on her angelic face.

Sam's heart shattered at those words, but he knew it was true. It was their last date. There was no reason to go on, not really. He hugged her impossibly closer. "Yeah." His voice cracked on the single admission. "I'm sorry." He said again.

She was quiet for awhile, then pulling back, she pleaded up at him. "Let me make it up to you, Sam. Please. I … I think … was I your first?"

Sam blushed pink, but nodded truthfully.

"Then let me show you how it CAN be, okay? No pain, I promise. I'm scared for you, Sam. I'm afraid I might have … have somehow damaged you."

"That's silly, Ronnie. I'm fine, honest."

"No, I'm really worried about it, Sam. I need to make it up to you. I need to make sure you have a good experience this time. Please! Otherwise, I'm gonna feel like I … like I failed you." She was nearly desperate. "We'll go to my neighbor's house. Lots of people, okay? But he has rooms we can use."

Sam stalled, wishing Dean would suddenly appear and forbid him to go so he wouldn't have to take responsibility for what he was about to do. He pushed her gently away, looking her in the eye.

"No, Ronnie. That's not going to happen. I'm sorry." He turned away, "I'll be right back." he said, heading for the restroom.

And Ronnie watched him go. Once he was out of sight, she glanced around for the punch table, fishing the small pill from the wristlet she wore on her right arm.


	6. Lured Away

Sam giggled. It was strange how he hadn't noticed before how funny the music sounded. He glanced around him as he held Ronnie close, and they swayed to the song, and Sam couldn't understand why no one else could hear it.

It sounded like they were underwater, and the Backstreet Boys were gargling their lines instead of singing them. He chuckled again. This was a blast. Wait til he told Dean how badly someone had mangled the music to this hootenanny.

Hootenanny was a good word, Sam decided. It was one of Bobby's, and Sam decided right then and there that he was going to start using it much more often.

"Hey Dean, did you bring some Metallica to this hootenanny?" Sam had to stop and laugh at that. He doubled over and slapped his leg, Metallica playing a hootenanny. Oh, damn. That was funny right there. And when he suddenly pictured his brother sitting on a porch step and playing the spoons with Lars Ulrich and an old coon hound, he lost it. He pulled Ronnie close and guffawed.

Gosh, he felt good.

She giggled, looking up at him, "Sammy? You okay up there?"

"Ahhhh, I'm good. I'm good. How about you? You okay down there?" He snorted, blinking. She sure looked good from where he was standing. Wait, was he still standing?

"I think we should go, don't you?" Ronnie asked, concern marring her features. "I think maybe you need some fresh air?"

Fresh air sounded good, didn't it? Wasn't he just thinking something along those lines earlier? "Yeah, fresh air." Sam agreed, nodding exaggeratedly in case she didn't hear him. He couldn't hear himself very well, come to think of it. He'd have to speak up.

"I'll have to speak up!" Sam shouted in Ronnie's face, nodding big. "Then you can hear me over the water!"

Ronnie glanced anxiously around them, noticing people eyeing them with concern. When Mr. Anthus, Sam's favorite math teacher, started toward them, she began tugging her date toward the door.

But Mr. Anthus was faster. "Miss Davies, Mr. Winchester." He greeted them, studying Sam with narrowed eyes. "Everything okay over here?"

"Oh! Yeah, Mr. Anthus. We're fine. Sam just needs a little fresh air is all, right Sam?"

Sam nodded hugely. "Fresh air!" He shouted in the teacher's face, then snorted.

Mr. Anthus frowned, "Sam, have you been drinking?" He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, looking from him to Ronnie.

Sam snorted again. "Drinking? You mean BEER? Dean would KILL me! I mean REALLY KILL me if I drank a beer, Mr. Anthus." Sam tottered into the wall.

Or maybe it tottered into him.

Mr. Anthus sighed. "Sam, I'm surprised at you, son. You usually have all your ducks in a row."

Sam froze. Oh, the imagery.

"Ducks?" He shouted, looking around. He had to see this. "Where?"

Ronnie giggled nervously, "Uh, Mr. Anthus was just kidding, Sam. Come on. Time to go."

Sam frowned, digging in his heels, "But I wanna see the ducks." He whined.

Mr. Anthus still had a firm hand on Sam's shoulder. He turned to Ronnie. "Did Sam drive you both here?"

"Oh! No, Mr. Anthus. I walked, Sam's brother dropped him off. He's probably waiting outside for him right now." She made a point of glancing at Sam's watch. "Dean hates it when Sam makes him wait."

The teacher nodded, "That's fine then. Under no circumstances does he get behind the wheel of a car, understand?" He told her firmly. "And if he tries, you don't get in the car with him. Got it?"

Ronnie nodded repeatedly. "I won't, Mr. Anthus. I promise! Come on, Sam. Dean's waiting."

Sam sobered a bit, looking around. "Dean? Dean's here?"

"He's outside waiting, silly." Ronnie said, as she guided him through the crowd of grinning spectators.

"Did he see the ducks?"

###

Dean hadn't worked up the courage to go downstairs yet. In fact, he'd probably skip the basement all together, he thought. He already felt like a fish out of water in this crowd that was all pairing up as the night wore on.

If he looked closely, Dean thought he could tell the doms from the subs, but then again, maybe he was full of shit.

And beer. He'd had a few, after all.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder, "So!" Joey beamed. "Been downstairs yet?"

Dean shook his head. "Not yet."

"You scared?"

Dean glowered.

Joey grinned, "Lighten up, dude. It's okay if you wanna just go and take a peak. It is a public playroom after all. They wouldn't be there if they didn't want people watching."

"I'll think about it." Dean nodded.

"You should," Joey teased, "I just put in a new torture chamber and everything."

Dean almost dropped his beer, as Joey slapped him on the back and laughed. "Had ya goin' though, didn't I? He turned and moved away, "Ah, Winchester, you're too easy."

###

Steering Sam where she wanted him to go was harder than Ronnie had anticipated, but she was determined to get him there.

The place she had in mind would be the perfect ending for their relationship. Sam certainly wouldn't forget her anytime soon once this night was over.

She was going away after all, and she had Sam to thank for that. He'd squealed to Ms. Jefferies, who, in turn, had squealed to her mom. Now Ronnie was being sent away to some type of rehab camp for sex addicts that was two hours away.

She owed that to Sam, and she had every intention of paying him back. She was thinking a full head mask that locked, paired with the little electrical device she carried in her wristlet should just about do the trick. Add in some restraints so Sam couldn't move, let alone defend himself, and she'd be happy.

She didn't want to hurt him so much as she wanted to terrify him. It was the least he deserved for ratting her out. She'd been in this life for awhile, and none of the other boys had ever told. But then came Sam with his morals and his values and his … his concern for her welfare.

Just ew.

She'd teach him a lesson he'd never forget, that's for sure, she thought, as Joey's house came into view.

"It's hot!" Sam complained, staggering slightly. "When did it get so hot?" He tugged off his tie and tossed it on the ground. Then he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt for a good two minutes before giving up and yanking it open from neck to hem. Sam giggled at the sound of buttons scattering on pavement and pulled his date to his bare chest. "There, that's much better." He sighed, smiling down at Ronnie with adoration.

"I love you." He said softly.

And she smiled. Oh yes, Sam would never forget her. Not ever.


	7. The Basement

Joey was serving up mixed drinks behind his bar when his partner, Rebecca, hurried over. "She's here." Rebecca stated, looking terrified.

Joey rolled his eyes, making Dean smirk. "Please tell me she's alone this time?"

Rebecca shook her head. "She's got a guy restrained on the mat in the corner. But she put him in the full locking head mask so nobody can tell how old he is. It's getting bad down there, Joey. People are getting freaked."

Dean saw an uncharacteristic flash of anger in Joey's eyes as he processed his partner's words. "She's hurting him? Actually hurting him?"

Rebecca looked ill. "More like torture from what I'm hearing. He's … he's screaming under the mask, and she has it all zipped up tight with the padlock on. Won't give anyone the key. She's … she's shocking him with some kind of device …"

Dean felt himself turn a little green at the girl's words.

"Son of a bitch! So help me, I'll filet that little bitch if she's torturing some innocent kid on my watch." Joey hurried away.

"Hey! You need help?" Dean asked, ready to step up.

But this was the last scene that Joey wanted his hesitant friend to witness. "No, I got it, Dean. Just hang tight, okay? I'll be right back." Joey headed for the basement. "Don't leave!" He called back, "We got things to discuss!"

###

Joey had to push past the mass exodus of people making their way up his basement steps. They were fleeing, which couldn't be good. And Joey could hear the muffled screams before he was halfway down.

There, in the corner. Ronnie knelt in a tight little black dress. She wore black rubber gloves and had something small in her hand, and every time she touched her playmate with it, his back arched up off the mat and he screamed in agony.

Joey was going to puke. He just knew it.

"Ronnie!" He roared, charging forward and pushing her back away from the man she tortured. Her hands flew up as she lost her balance, and the device brushed against Joey's open palm.

He swore, yanking his hand back. It felt like she'd just stripped all the flesh off his hand.

"Son of a bitch! Where'd you get that?" He screamed, knocking it from her fist. He looked down at the kid on the mat and saw the red lines that criss-crossed his chest where she had shocked him. The kid was dressed in a full suit with the front ripped open, and his dress pants had been unbuttoned and looked as though someone had tried and failed to tug them down. Joey spied a glimpse of white boxer peeking out beneath them.

Worst of all was the mask, and Joey groaned. It was one he'd bought against his better judgement because several couples had requested it. The thing gave Joey the creeps. It was all black leather and buckles with a zipper that closed and locked over the mouth. Ronnie had the mouth locked up tight with the padlock and the eye shield engaged, and Joey knew the poor guy inside was being entirely sensory deprived. He was throwing that damned thing in the trash as soon as it came off the kid's head.

"Key!" He barked, but Ronnie just sat on the floor where she'd fallen, staring at the kid on the mat.

"Ronnie!" He nudged her with his shoe. "Gimme the damned key!"

She shook her head, glancing up at him. "I'm not done. He has to pay."

"Oh you're done, girly. And if I get this mask off and find out you got some schoolboy under there, you're going to jail this time. You have my promise on that. Now gimme the damned key!"

But Ronnie just smiled, making Joey want to smack her. He'd have to have one of the women frisk her. He called out to Rebecca. "Becky, get Lila and pat her down, we need that key!"

Joey knelt before the boy on the mat, running a frustrated hand through his own hair. He couldn't even comfort the kid, knowing that any touch would freak him out more. The poor kid whimpered and shook with fear. He was making his wrists bloody, fighting the restraints, and that mask - it was just the stuff of nightmares. Joey considered removing the wrist restraints, but he didn't know how badly the kid was hurt. He could do himself more damage if he got loose and started clawing at the mask.

"What's his name?" He barked at Ronnie, praying she'd at least give him that much.

"Sam …" she said softly. "I love him."

Joey grimaced, she'd lost it. completely. "Sam what?"

"Winchester."

Joey froze. Oh no. No no no. Surely, he'd heard that wrong. Little Sammy Winchester was … what? Fifteen? Sixteen? No way could this be Sam. He looked up and down the boy's form, feeling like a creeper, but he hadn't seen Sam in over a year.

"Sam Winchester? Lives out at the salvage yard with his uncle and his brother?" Joey barked, turning to face this girl he'd come to despise. When she nodded, he swore.

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!" He searched out the eyes of one of the few spectators who'd been brave enough to stay, hoping to be able to help. "Can you do me a favor, please?"

The guy nodded immediately.

"The new guy upstairs. Maroon shirt with a visitor's tag. Tell him I need him down here right away. He was sitting at the bar. Name's Dean."

###

Dean followed the stranger with trepidation, unsure that he wanted to see what he was about to see. The guy who'd come to get him was huge and hulking, but he looked terrified and a little ill, and Dean couldn't begin to imagine what had done that to him.

He followed the guy to the bottom steps and looked around, finding Joey in a far corner. His friend was kneeling beside a mat that held a half-naked man. The man on the mat was in distress, Dean could tell, and as he approached he could hear the man's whimpers of pain and fear and see the harsh lines marking his chest. And what the hell was that on his head?

Dean knelt beside Joey, feeling sick that someone had done this to another human being, let alone a kid. "What can I do?" He asked softly, reaching out to try and comfort the kid.

"Don't!" Joey blurted, as Dean yanked his hand back. "Dean, don't touch him. He's in a sensory deprivation mask. He can't see or hear a thing. He has no idea who we are or that he's safe.

Dean swallowed down bile. "What the hell, Joey …"

"Dean." Joey eyed him worriedly. "Dean, listen, okay? I need you to not lose your shit here. You gotta promise me?"

Dean frowned, "I ain't exactly a virgin here, Joey. Why would I?"

Joey looked like he was going to burst into tears at any minute, and that worried Dean beyond measure. "Just promise me, okay? Cause if you lose your shit, then he's gonna lose his even more than he already has, okay?"

Dean nodded, not getting it. "Yeah, sure. I promise, I guess."

"Dean …" Joey closed his eyes. "Dean, I think … I think it's Sammy."

Dean actually felt the color drain from his face at those words. He stared at Joey, his expression blank, "You … what … you …?" Dean swallowed hard, looking down at the ravaged kid on the mat, really looking this time."

Black suit … dress shoes from the thrift shop with the worn spot on the toe. White boxers. Oh God, his pants were undone. This couldn't … this couldn't be Sam. Dean felt himself beginning to hyperventilate. No way this terrified kid tied down to a mat in the corner of a basement was Sam. This kid who was locked inside the most sadistic headgear that Dean had ever seen and who'd fought so desperately to free himself that he'd torn his wrists to ribbons. This was not Sam. He'd left Sam safe and happy at that damned dance. Left him with …

Dean's horrified eyes met Joey's. "I left him at the dance with …"

Joey swallowed, "Ronnie?"

Dean felt a tear run down his cheek as he looked back down at his baby brother.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, reaching forward, then stopping. Sam screamed then from inside the mask, whether from frustration or fear or … whatever, Dean couldn't tell, but he couldn't … he just … he couldn't.

"Oh my God! Get that mask off him!" Dean screamed, reaching down and yanking at the hateful headgear. "He can't stand … he's claustrophobic! Joey! He can't stand that! Get it off him!"

But when Dean's hands touched the mask, Sam's body arched up off the mat, and he screamed again.

"Where's that damned key?" Joey roared back at the two women who wrestled with Ronnie.

Dean saw her then, huddled there in the corner with two women struggling to search her for the key that locked his little brother inside his own private hell.

He couldn't … he didn't have time for her right now. Sam was all that mattered. He studied the mask, tugging at the eye guard.

But Joey enlightened him. "It's all locked down tight with the key. We can't communicate with him at all till we either get the key or get someone in here to cut it off."

Dean's eyes widened. "I can pick a lock! I need a paperclip!"

Joey shook his head. "No, you can't. Not this one, Dean. Trust me."

Sam was crying; Dean could hear him inside the mask, and his heart broke in two. He had to find a way to let Sammy know he was safe, that Dean was here. He had to find a way to communicate without words.

And then he knew. Dammit. He knew!

Dean moved over to Sam's right hand where it was fastened tight to the floor. He turned it gently so it was palm up. Sam startled and bucked at the touch, but Dean held on. He pulled Sam's fingers out flat and used his own finger to gently write one letter on his brother's palm. The letter "I".

Sam stilled instantly. His bare chest rising and falling in desperate fear.

Dean smiled and slowly wrote out the word, "AM."

Sam was waiting, Dean could tell. He carefully began writing the last word. "DEAN." When he finished the "N," he felt Sam's hand relax in his own.

Dean couldn't believe he'd forgotten. He and Sam had used this method of communication for years when they were kids. Anytime John was home from a hunt and they all had to share the same motel room, Dean and Sam would talk the nights away using this unique form of sign language that didn't require light or speech.

Dean carefully released Sam's right wrist from the restraints and lifted it, first to the side of his face where Sam could feel his stubble, then to the amulet that hung round his neck. Sam grasped his brother's shirt desperately, trying to pull the older boy down to him, and Dean went willingly. He huddled over the boy for a moment, rubbing his arm. Then he released the second wrist restraint, and helped Sam sit up. Dean positioned his body around behind him, and the two boys sat there, Dean holding Sam's hands to keep them from clawing at the mask.

Joey knelt in front of them, grinning. "Damndest thing I ever saw, Dean." He rejoiced. But it was short lived when Sam began to heave.

"Oh shit! OH SHIT!" Joey breathed, horrified eyes finding Dean's.

"Dean! He can't vomit! Not in that mask! There's nowhere for it to go!"


	8. Ordeal

Dean's frantic eyes met Joey's as Sam continued to retch. Sitting behind him, Dean could feel every involuntary heave as the younger boy's body struggled to bring up whatever he'd recently eaten. Then Dean looked again at the ghoulish zipper that ran the length of the mask where Sam's mouth would be, and he tried not to lose it completely. If Sam vomited in that thing, he'd aspirate it all back in.

He'd suffocate, choked to death by his own vomit while Dean sat helplessly by.

He shook his head. Not on his watch.

Dean pulled out his pocket knife. As he began sawing wordlessly away at the tough leather that encased his brother's head, Joey whirled on Ronnie.

His eyes searched the floor and fell on the electronic device she'd used to hurt Sam. He scuttled over and scooped it up, slipping on one of her discarded rubber gloves as he went. He advanced on the girl who sat in the corner smirking. Suddenly, the smirk was replaced by a look of fear, and Joey felt the first niggle of satisfaction he'd had all evening.

"Now you listen to me, you psycho bitch. I've known that boy all his life. He's a friend of mine. His brother's a friend of mine. His uncle's worked on my car more times than I can count. And that boy is sitting there dying right now because of you. So here's how it's going to go. You're going to give me the fucking key right fucking now, or I'm going to turn this fucker on and shove it down your throat so far they'll see the light in the next county." Joey advanced, his voice and his face deadly. He fully meant what he said. He was so done with this crazy-ass bitch and her sick need for vengeance.

Ronnie's eyes grew huge as she stammered, "M-my wristlet. It's in my wristlet!"

Joey blinked, "What the fuck is a wristlet?"

But Rebecca had acted as soon as Ronnie made her confession. She retrieved the girl's small purse from the floor and upended it. When the surprisingly harmless-looking key jingled out, she tossed it to Joey who dropped to his knees in front of Sam.

"Come on, Sammy. Almost there." Joey muttered, "Hold it in just one more minute, buddy, okay?" His hands shook so badly he couldn't fit the key into the lock. And as he fumbled, Sam's body gave a final heave and his head pitched forward. Vomit began to trickle down Sam's neck from inside the mask, and the boy began to choke.

"Fuck!" Dean growled. "Don't you do this, Sam! You hear me? Don't you dare!"

"Got it!" Joey yelled, tossing the lock aside and whipping the zipper open over Sam's mouth. A volcano of foul liquid gushed out, and Sam coughed helplessly.

"His eyes! Get his eyes!" Dean breathed, fumbling with the eye shield. Suddenly Dean was staring into his brother's dazed hazel orbs. They were at half-mast and dilated, and Dean suddenly knew how the bitch had managed to get him here.

"Bitch drugged him." Dean snarled, holding Sam's head as Joey finished releasing all the catches. They lifted the hateful thing up and over and then there was Sam, sweaty and flushed, his hair plastered to his head and face. He was dazed and couldn't hold his head up. It fell forward onto Dean's shoulder as the older boy wrapped strong arms around him and kept up a soothing commentary. Dean's eyes met Joey's over the top of Sam's head, and both boys had tears in their eyes as they breathed sighs of relief.

"I'll call an ambulance." Joey offered, sitting back, "And the cops. Time to shut that bitch down once and for all." He made a move to rise, but Dean's hand caught his wrist.

"No! No cops!" He said, determinedly.

Joey frowned, "Dean, if you're trying to protect me, don't. I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself."

"No! It's not that. It's … just … Sam. I'm not putting him through all that. I'll take him home. He'll be fine. I can take care of him."

Joey looked unconvinced. "You sure?"

"Yeah, just … just give us a few minutes, okay?" Dean pleaded.

Joey stared at the two traumatized boys who sat huddled together on the floor of his playroom and tried to convince himself that this wasn't his fault.

Sam had nearly died, could still suffer grave complications if he'd sucked any of that foulness back into his lungs.

And his mental state. Shit.

Kid was going to need therapy for years after this night.

Then he had an idea. "Dean, bring him upstairs. I think I saw Dr. Milton come in about an hour ago. He's an MD. He can help."

Dean nodded, looking relieved. He joggled Sam, "Hey, Sammy. Come on, man. Let's get you upstairs to the doc. Think you can stand?"

Sam didn't move, and Dean reached down and tilted his head back. "Sammy. Hey. You with me, little bro?"

Sam breathed a word too softly for Dean to catch it, and the older boy had to put his ear to Sam's mouth to hear. "Say again. Sammy. I didn't get that."

Sam repeated himself, and Dean looked perplexed.

"What'd he say?" Joey asked.

Dean shook his head, "Sounded like 'ducks.'" He rose and picked Sam up off the floor, carrying him in his arms like was an infant again. Sam's suit was wrecked. His head hung backward; his arms dangled down, and Joey had the macabre thought for a moment that it was a dead man that Dean was toting up the stairs. He shivered, clearing a path through the onlookers and searching the crowd for the one man who he was sure could help.

"Dean, put him in the master bedroom, I'll bring the doc in soon as I find him.

"He's at the bar." Someone piped up, and Joey nodded his thanks as Dean turned and carried his burden off to Joey's room.

Dean slipped inside and closed the door behind them to discourage the crowd of concerned onlookers from following them in. Sam wouldn't want people looking at him in this condition, and Dean was determined to shield his brother from any more humiliation or die trying.

"Come on, Sammy, let's get you stretched out and comfortable, okay?" Dean placed him gently on the bed and quickly re-fastened his pants. "Gotta lose this jacket, Sam, so the doc can look you over. I'm just gonna take off your jacket and shirt, okay?" Dean looked to his brother for approval, but Sam just continued his dazed stare.

Dean grimaced and tried not to think about what kind of trauma lay behind those normally expressive eyes. He gently manipulated the two items of clothing off his brother's slight frame and placed him back on the bed. He stared at the boy's chest. The red lines were fading, and it looked as though there would be no permanent damage, but still, Dean was more than ready to take his brother's girlfriend to some secluded place and beat the pervert right out of her. He was thinking along these lines when Sam suddenly spoke, his voice raspy.

"Dean?"

Dean leaned over, "Right here, Sam. I'm right here."

Sam's eyes closed in relief. "Thank God." He sighed.

Dean grinned, "You sure know how to pick 'em, little brother."

Sam tried to smile, or at least, that's what Dean thought it looked like.

"How you doin' for pain?" Dean asked, his eyes going unbidden to the fading red lines.

Sam's eyes opened like he was thinking. "Is my … she … cut me open?"

"What? Hell no! She had some kind of electrical thing. She was shocking you with it."

Sam looked down at his chest like he was surprised to still be in one undamaged package. He ran his hands over his chest. "Felt like … like she had a freakin' scalpel." His eyes found Dean's, "I was sure she was skinning me alive. Felt just like it." He confessed shakily.

Dean turned green thinking of the terror that must have caused. Sam must have thought he was going to die, really and truly thought it.

"Holy shit, Sammy." He said, at a loss for words. "I …"

Sam smiled again, eyes closed. "S'okay. She didn't. So s'okay."

"It's pretty damned far from okay." Dean growled.

Sam nodded, "I … got any water? My mouth tastes like ass."

Dean grinned, hopping up from the bed. "One water, coming up. Hold the ass."

Sam made a face. "Gross, Dean." He said, as the older boy helped him sit up and drink the water. He took a few sips, then frowned.

"What?" Dean asked, his radar fine-tuned to the Sam Channel.

"Dean? Were there … were there ducks?"


	9. The Healing

"You really think he's okay?" Bobby asked, skeptical. It had been a week since Dean had found Sam in the basement, and the kid hadn't even had a nightmare.

Since then, Dean had been on high alert, waiting for the second shoe to fall.

And apparently, so had Bobby.

"I just can't imagine that he's okay with everything that happened. I mean, his wrists, and the way you described that mask. Hell, Dean, I feel like I need therapy just hearing about it.

Dean shrugged, "Not kidding. I expected nightmares off the scale, but so far, so good." He lifted his favorite coffee mug to his lips and tested it for temperature.

"That's a good thing, I guess." Bobby replied, looking confused. "But I'm worried."

"We'll figure it out." Dean said, risking a sip. Lately, Bobby had taken to boiling the water for his coffee, which usually meant first-degree burns for anyone who tried to drink it before letting it cool.

"Hell, the kid didn't even miss a day of school."

Dean snorted, "Well, you know Sam."

"What about Sam?" Sam asked, walking quietly into the kitchen and eyeing the stove guardedly. "Hey Bobby? Okay if I use the coffee pot?" He asked, hating the surprise of finding grounds in his coffee.

"Go ahead, but you're missing the whole gourmet experience." Bobby griped.

Dean grinned. "Yeah, Sam. If you make it in the pot like a sane person, you can't enjoy choking on the grounds at the bottom of the cup.

Sam shivered, picturing that exact scenario. "That's okay." He fished the coffee pot out from the back of the counter where it had been pushed behind a loaf of rye bread, sniffed it, and nodded. "I wish you'd never seen that episode of 'World's Best Kept Cooking Secrets,' Bobby." He added, smiling. "Up til then, life was pretty good around here."

Dean snorted, and Bobby glared.

"Don't see either of you idjits complainin' when I'm slavin' over a hot oven every night, makin' your damned supper."

Sam grinned, sensing an opportunity too good to pass up, "Supper? That what they're callin' it these days?"

The quip was so unexpected, and so unlike Sam, that Dean spit his coffee across the table.

Bobby folded both arms across his chest and glared at the younger boy. "Yeah, that's what they're callin' it." he said, miffed.

Sam chuckled, patting the older man on the shoulder, "Just kidding, Bobby." He said. "Dean and I know you try your best."

Bobby's mouth dropped open, "Damn boy, you tryin' to get yourself killed?"

Dean smothered his laugh as Sam sat down across the table from them. "So …" Dean said, nodding.

Sam's eyebrows raised, "So?"

"So … how are you?" Dean asked lamely.

Sam sighed. "I'm fine, Dean. Still. Just like yesterday and just like the day before."

Dean held up his hands in a motion of surrender. "Hey, don't shoot me for worryin'. It's my job."

Sam shook his head. "No nightmares. No fear of enclosed spaces. Nothing. I'm perfectly sane."

Dean stared, "Well, let's not get all crazy."

"Jerk."

Dean grinned, "So, you haven't, like, sworn off the female gender or anything, right?"

Sam stood up, moving over to fill his mug. "I'll let you know, okay? You'll be the first one I tell." He took a sip, closing his eyes like it was a little bit of heaven.

Dean blinked, "Good much?"

Sam took a deep breath, smiling, and shrugged. "Dunno, just … it's good be standin' here with you guys, drinkin' coffee, is all."

Dean and Bobby exchanged a look. "Yeah?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah." Sam agreed. "Hey Dean. It's Saturday."

"Last time I checked, Sam. Yeah."

"So … got anything planned?"

"Uh …" Dean had a date with the chick from the auto goods store, but it wasn't anything he couldn't get out of. For Sam.

"No, that's okay, forget it. I forgot you had a date."

Dean shrugged, "Ain't written in stone."

Sam shook his head, sipping at his coffee. "How about you, Bobby?"

The old hunter blinked, he couldn't remember the last time Sam had actually asked to hang out with him. He nodded, "Was gonna drive over to Parker. Museum is closing, and they're sellin' off some old books." He shrugged, "Might be something worth bringin' home."

Sam's eyes lit up. "Books? Really?"

Bobby nodded, "You wanna go, get ready. Chariot leaves in 20 minutes."

Sam grinned and set his coffee on the table, all but running upstairs.

Dean shook his head, chuckling, and Bobby smiled. It would be nice having a little good company on the drive over to Parker. It made Bobby feel needed, and he couldn't really remember the last time either of his boys had flat-out needed him.

He didn't realize, in the moment, just exactly how out of character that was for Sam who was typically so fiercely independent.

He would though. He would.


	10. Please Let Me Go

Dean slapped his brother upside the head as he passed him in the upstairs hallway. "You gotta walk to school from the garage today, dork. I got an early shift."

Sam's school was a bit of a hike from Dean's garage - eleven blocks - and normally, Sam would chuff and moan at this revelation, but today, he stayed silent. He stopped in the hallway, right where Dean had dropped the news and stood looking at his brother with an unreadable expression on his face.

Dean grinned, "Forget how to use your words there, Sammy?"

But when Sam swallowed visibly, and Dean noticed the kid's hands had begun to shake, he realized something was up.

"Sam?" Dean's eyes narrowed. Damn. He didn't like the way his brother looked all of a sudden - all the color had gone out of his face, and he looked like he was about to drop. "Sam! What's goin' on, man?" The older boy crowded close, ready to catch the kid if he fell.

"N-nothing." Sam offered up a sickly smile. "It's cool." He turned to make his way downstairs, but Dean wasn't having it.

"Hold up there." Dean grabbed his arm. "You gonna puke?"

But Sam shook him off, recovering. "Let go. I'm fine. Just need something to eat is all."

Dean let go, but his eyes never left his brother as the kid stumbled down the stairs. At the bottom, Sam stopped and glanced back up, and Dean swore he had tears in his eyes.

"What the hell?" Dean muttered, stopping his morning routine and trailing after his brother. But in the kitchen, all he found was Sam - no shaking hands, no teary eyes. The boy bantered with Bobby as usual. They both stopped what they were doing when Dean entered, and they looked at him expectantly.

"Thought you had to be at work this morning?" Bobby asked, sliding two eggs onto Sam's plate.

"Yeah, I do." Dean replied. He glanced toward his brother. "What gives, Sasquatch?"

Sam shook his head, "Don't know what you mean." He mumbled, burying his head in his plate.

Bobby stopped. "I miss something?" he asked the older boy.

Dean studied his little brother, knowing something was off, but unwilling to put the kid on the spot in front of Bobby. "No," he covered, "Just thought Sam wanted to tell me something."

"Nope." Sam answered absently, suddenly interested in the phone book that was propping up one of the legs of Bobby's table.

Dean knew he was lying, but he wasn't willing to push it. Instead he made himself a cup of boiled coffee and stood sipping it silently, shooting glances at his brother when the kid wasn't looking.

"I … I think I might stay home today." Sam suddenly revealed, capturing the attention of everyone in the room. Sam didn't stay home from school. Not ever. Not even two days after he'd been strapped down in a basement and used as a human light bulb.

"Hunh?" Bobby asked, words failing him.

Sam shrugged, "Not feeling so good, I guess." He took a large bite of egg. "Maybe I could help you organize the books you got at the museum sale, Bobby?"

Bobby's eyes met Dean's. "I'd love to, Sam, but I ain't gonna be here."

Sam stilled, his fork partway to his mouth, and Dean swore he saw the kid's hand tremble.

"Where … where you goin'?"

Bobby studied the boy. "Got a hunt, Sam. Remember? I'm gonna go help Caleb two towns over. Probably a shifter, and it ain't no fun going up against one of those alone."

Sam looked up hopefully. "I could help? I could …"

"No way." Dean shut him down instantly.

Sam's eyes closed, and he placed his fork carefully back on his plate. "Why not?" He asked, not looking at his brother.

Dean saw the kid's emotions dangling there at the end of his sleeve, but he said it anyway. "Because you're sixteen."

Sam looked angry. But when his eyes met Dean's, all the older boy could see was naked fear.

Sam was terrified of something, and the realization rocked Dean to his core. Then Sam did something that worried Dean and Bobby more than anything that had happened so far.

He begged.

"Please, Dean?" He pleaded. "Please … I …"

Dean swallowed hard, not sure he wanted to hear what his brother was about to say. "What, Sam?"

"I just … I need to go with Bobby, okay? You're gonna be busy all day, and I … I don't wanna ..." He amended his statement, his eyes pleading. "Please? Please let me go?"

Dean felt like a class-A jerk, but there was no compromising on this. No way was his 16-year-old brother going hunting a shifter. "I'm sorry, Sammy. You can't go. The answer is no."

Sam stood up from the table, his hands balled into fists. "You're not my father."

Dean shook his head, hiding his hurt at Sam's words. "Well, I'm the best you got at the moment, Sam."

Sam turned to Bobby. "Please, Bobby? Let me come? I'll stay in the truck. I won't even get out. I promise."

The old hunter hated being caught between the boys, but he had to agree with Dean. Sam was just too young. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm with your brother on this one."

Sam stood alone in the middle of the kitchen, his eyes overflowing, looking like he'd just lost his best friend.

And the sight was enough to nearly break Dean's heart in two.

"Sammy. What's really goin' on? Tell me." Dean asked, stepping forward and tentatively placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. He half-expected Sam to shake him off in an angry show of defiance, but Sam just stood there, looking lost. He wouldn't meet either of their eyes as he said softly. "Well, if I can't, I guess I can't." He took a swipe at his eyes with the back of a hand.

"Sammy …" Dean started, but Sam shook his head and moved past his brother, heading for the stairs. "I'm … I'm going back to bed. I'll see you … when I see you, I guess."

And Dean and Bobby were left alone, feeling like Bobby had just held a puppy down while Dean kicked it.


	11. Accidental Discharge

Sam sat huddled on his bed, knees drawn up, arms locked around them. Dean had knocked on the door before he'd left for the day, but Sam had locked it up tight, not wanting to face the older boy, knowing that he was only going to leave.

Sam was alone, and it was terrifying.

And he felt so darned silly about it. He was sixteen - practically a man for Heaven's sake - and yet the thought of spending an hour or two alone filled him with a level of fear that he couldn't … couldn't manage.

He'd had to breathe into a bag when he heard the downstairs door close behind Dean. And then later, when Bobby's old truck engine had stuttered to life against its will, and Sam realized he was truly all alone in the house, he'd begun to cry.

And they weren't just soft, smothered sighs. They were all-out sobs. Loud, messy, satisfying.

But now Sam had cried himself out and he couldn't do anything more but sit there rocking on the bed and wondering if Bobby had remembered to lock the kitchen door behind him. And salt lines, he should definitely lay some of those. They'd all been a little lax about that since Dad had gone up to Canada to help an old Marine buddy dislodge a poltergeist.

It had been over a month, and nobody ever thought to salt up behind themselves anymore.

What if … if something came in while Sam was alone? What if a person broke in? A person with nefarious intentions?

Sam had to check that kitchen door. He just had to. But he couldn't find the courage to put his feet on the floor. Things lived under beds. He knew that better than anyone. What if he put his foot down and something reached out and …

Sam whimpered, hating himself for the show of weakness.

Why was this happening to him?

But then he heard a noise. Outside. He heard a noise outside that hadn't been accompanied by the Impala's rumble or Bobby's old truck engine.

Someone was … was walking toward the front porch. Sam could hear the crunch of feet over gravel. The person wore boots, of that Sam was sure. The intruder sounded just like Dean when he walked, and Dean only ever wore boots.

And Ronnie. Sometimes she wore boots too. Sam began to pant.

Oh God! What if the door … if the door wasn't locked? They could just come right in.

And that was the thought that got Sam moving. He shot up off the bed and reached beneath it, fumbling for his Colt. He knew the gun was loaded. It was always loaded and ready to go with the safeties engaged. He was moving down the upstairs hallway, weapon at the ready, when whoever it was opened the kitchen door and closed it behind them.

Sam flattened himself to the wall and squeezed his eyes shut, screaming internally. "They're in the house! They're in the house!" Sam's brain assaulted him over and over. And whoever it was hadn't bothered to knock. They'd just assumed nobody was home.

They must be intending to rob Bobby. The old hunter had a lot of friends but none who would disrespect his privacy by just walking right in like that when he wasn't home.

Sam was at the bottom of the staircase and moving silently along the wall toward the kitchen, when the door flew open, and the intruder barrelled through.

Sam fired, his eyes shut tight. Then he slid down the wall and huddled there sobbing, as terrified as he'd ever been.

###

Dean swore. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten to toss the jack back into the trunk on Wednesday when he'd detailed the Impala. That was the day that psycho bitch had come tripping up Bobby's lane with Sam in tow and had asked Dean to beat her.

Thinking back, Dean wished he had a do-over. If there was ever anyone anywhere who needed beating, she was it.

He grumbled as he hiked up the last of the long drive from the road. At least Baby had waited to blow her right rear until he was nearly home. She was parked down by the mailbox, patiently waiting for his return.

He let himself into the house via the kitchen, grabbing a beer on the way. He wondered at the silence and assumed Sam must still be sleeping off whatever had been ailing him this morning. Dean glanced at his watch to see exactly how long Sam had been down for the count as he punched the door to the living room open and stepped through.

###

When the gun discharged, Dean hit the floor, rolling to the side. He landed behind the easy chair and used it as cover to pull his own weapon.

Someone was in the house. They were in the house with Sam, and Dean swore, if it was that crazy bitch again, he was going to end her. The older boy peeked around the chair and froze.

Sam was there, and he held his weapon leveled straight at Dean's head. Sam looked as terrified as he had that night - eyes streaming, choky sobs escaping. The boy trained the gun shakily on Dean, and Dean could see the wobble from across the room.

"Sam! It's me!" Dean called out, ducking back behind his cover.

Sam looked like he was half out of his mind with fear. He had to be to level a loaded weapon at Dean that way.

To fire on him.

"It's just me, Sam! You're safe, okay?"

"D-Dean?"

Dean risked another glance around the chair and saw Sam with his weapon lowered. He raised both hands and stood, stepping out into the room. "Sammy, it's me, okay? You're safe. I swear."

Sam's eyes went huge when he realized what he'd done. He looked Dean up and down, checking for damage, and then he began to hyperventilate.

Dean moved forward cautiously, speaking softly to his brother all the way. When he was within reach, he slowly closed his hand around Sam's, tugging the weapon gently from him. Dean glanced at it, then placed it carefully on the coffee table. "What's up, little bro?" Dean tried to tease. "Didn't think you were that mad at me, man."

But this was serious. This was damned serious, and Dean knew it. Sam could have killed himself or someone else. Dean had no idea what was going through the kid's mind. Sam had enough training to know that he couldn't fire a weapon at an unseen target in broad daylight, like that.

Not unless he meant to kill it. And Dean had stellar reflexes. What if Bobby had arrived back at the house first?

The older boy repressed a shudder as he knelt down and pulled his hysterical brother into an embrace. He wrapped strong arms around the quaking kid and shushed him. "It's gonna be okay, Sammy. I'm here. I got ya."


	12. The King of Clam Up

Dean stood over his brother, trying not to lose his shit completely.

The kid was damaged - had who knew what bouncing around inside his noggin - and the older boy tried to remember that as he absorbed the abuse his kid brother was currently dishing out.

But seriously, Dean had never wanted to punch his brother in the face more than he did right at this moment.

Sam sat in a kitchen chair, drinking a beer that Dean had forbidden him to have. He wore a disgusted look on his face and a chip on his shoulder that rivaled the size of Texas. And apparently, everything that had ever gone wrong in the world was currently Dean's fault.

Dean gritted his teeth and repeated himself for the last time.

"Sam, I said lose the beer."

Sam looked up, eyes narrowed. "Or what?"

Dean breathed heavily through his nose. "Or nothing. Just … it's not helping the situation, okay? Trust me, little brother, alcohol is the last thing you need right now." Dean reached for the bottle, but Sam slapped his hand away.

"Dude! Did you just slap my hand away like a girl?" Dean was sure one of them wasn't going to survive this day.

"You're the girl, Dean." Sam replied snottily. "Just let me be. You drink a beer anytime you want one."

Dean glared, reminding himself how much he loved this little asshole sitting in front of him. "Not when I was sixteen, I didn't. And never when I was hopped up on prescription meds." Dean's eyes traveled unbidden to Sam's mangled wrists that were still swathed in heavy bandages. The kid's arms looked like he'd gone two rounds with a cheese grater. Dean snatched the long neck bottle from his brother's hand and moved the two steps to dump it out in the sink.

"Dammit, Dean!" Sam rose up, indignant. "You're not my freaking father, okay!"

"Yeah, well. Like I said Sammy. Til Dad gets back, I'm all you got. So you do what I say when I say it."

"Like hell!"

Dean smiled, gritting his teeth. "Oh you ain't seen hell, Sam. But you keep up this shit attitude, and I'll call it down, make no mistake."

Sam glared at his brother, doing that heavy breathing thing that Dean knew he did when he was trying desperately not to cry.

The thought made Dean sigh. The kid had already been through hell. "Look, Sammy. Just … no alcohol with the heavy meds. That's all I'm askin', okay? You'd say the same if it was me. We look after each other, right? That's what I do - look out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother."

But Sam was too angry, had been pushed too far lately, to feel the need to back down. He needed to feel in control, wanted to hurt someone, and his brother was the only target in sight at the moment. He exploded.

"Well, bang-up job you're doin' there, Dean!" He said, holding up both wrists to make his point. "If you didn't have that friend that was into all that weird shit, there wouldn't have been a basement at all, would there? And there wouldn't have been freaking leather straps bolted to the damned floor."

And Dean paled instantly, the jibe hitting home. Dean had been thinking along those same lines since the moment he'd found his brother strapped to the floor and helpless.

It was HIS party, Dean. HIS house. HIS freaking, creepy-ass basement. So you tell me. If this is how you look out for me, you think you're doing such a great job?" Sam stomped to the refrigerator and grabbed a second beer. "I want a beer? I'll fucking have a beer."

And that was the final push that sent Dean past his limits. He knew this self-destructive streak was a remnant of PTSD or some shit, but he was damned if he'd sit by and let Sam kill himself. In one swift move, he knocked the glass bottle from his brother's hand and sent it crashing against the wall of Bobby's kitchen.

"No, Sam. You won't! You'll do what I say. When I say it. How I say it. Do I make myself clear? Otherwise …" Dean swallowed hard and backed off, suddenly reluctant to finish his thought.

But Sam wasn't going to let this go. His eyes flashed fire, and in the heat of the moment, he wanted nothing more than to share just a portion of the pain he was feeling. "Otherwise what, Dean? Hmmm? You gonna hit me?" He stepped up, right into his brother's face, challenging him.

And it took every ounce of reserve Dean had to take one step back. He was not going to hit Sam. He wasn't. The kid had been through enough. "I won't hit you." He said through gritted teeth. "But you can't go on like this. You have to see that. This self-destructive thing? The fear? Shooting at me? You need help, Sam!"

Sam's eyes went huge, voice wavered. "You think I'm crazy."

"Not crazy. Traumatized or shell-shocked or something. You've got PTSD or some shit. And it ain't gonna get better unless you talk about what happened."

Sam hadn't said a peep to anyone about the events that happened the night of the senior dance. Dean had tried. Bobby had tried. Even Joey had come over at Dean's request to try and gently prod some answers out of his brother.

But Sam had refused to revisit that night, and Dean could hardly blame him. He was getting worse by the day though. The kid was scared of his own shadow, terrified of noises. After the shooting incident, Dean had locked up all the weapons in the house. But the new phase, this 'I don't care if I live or die' shit was too much. Dean wasn't going to lose his brother to grief or anxiety or whatever the hell it was that was eating away at him.

He just wasn't.

If Sam wouldn't talk to family, then he'd have to talk to a professional.

Whether he wanted to or not.

"Oh, that's rich, Dean. Real rich, coming from the king of clam-up." Sam growled. "You do. You think I'm crazy." The boy turned away, and Dean knew it was to hide tears.

The older boy sighed. "Sammy, this ain't your fault. None of it. And maybe you're right. Maybe I am the one you should blame. I should have stopped it before it ever happened, should have forbid you to go to that fucking dance with that freaking psycho. I didn't though. And what happened happened. Now we have to deal with it, Sam. YOU have to deal with it cause it ain't gonna go away on its own."

Sam stood with his back to his brother, silent, but Dean could see the kid's shoulders quaking.

"Sammy …" He put a comforting hand on his brother's arm.

But Sam shook him off. He stepped away and turned around. "I'm not talking about that night, Dean. Not to you. Not to Bobby. Not to anybody. I won't go back there. And there's no way in hell you can make me."

But Dean stood his ground. "Yes you will. You have to because if you don't you're gonna end up hurting yourself or me or Bobby. Is that what you want, Sam? You wanna accidentally mow Bobby down in the middle of the night because you thought he was R-ronnie?" Dean stumbled over the name. It was the first time anyone had spoken it since he'd rescued his brother. The name was taboo in Bobby's house, but now, Dean was thinking, maybe that wasn't such a good idea. Maybe they needed to say it. Maybe Sam needed to say it.

Maybe not saying it was giving the bitch power over them all.

Sam paled, "Don't say that."

Dean shook his head. "I will say it, Sam. She's still messing with your head. You have to get her out. If you won't talk to me or to Bobby, then …"

Sam stood silent and, Dean could tell, scared. And when he asked the question, Dean thought he sounded for all the world like he was eight years old again. "What, Dean? Then what?" he whispered.

"Then, we'll have to find someone that you will talk to. That's all."

Sam shook his head. "I won't. I mean it. You can't make me."

But Dean had had enough. "We can make you, Sam. And we will. I will, if it means the difference between you feeling good and you … h-hurting yourself, I absolutely will."

"What are you saying? You gonna lock me up? Have me … have me committed somewhere?" Sam looked truly terrified.

And Dean's heart shifted a little in his chest. "Just … just talk to me, Sammy. Please. Let me help you, man. You just need to talk about what happened."


	13. Gone Missing

Sam was certain Dean would never make good on his threat.

Well, pretty certain.

Sam had pushed his big brother before, but Dean had never threatened to have him locked up over it. The teenager snorted, lifting the bottle to his lips and downing the last half in a single chug.

Commitment.

Dean wouldn't dare.

Sam tossed the bottle outside the door of the rusted out Buick where he'd come to get some privacy. Glancing down, he was pleased to see he still had half a six-pack left, and he grabbed a fourth bottle and twisted off the top.

Beer made him feel good. It took a little of the edge off, and now Sam could see why Dean and their dad had always been so fond of it.

About three bottles in, and the fear went away, replaced by a warm feeling of invincibility, and that was a feeling Sam could really get behind.

It was much better than being scared, better than feeling powerless, better than … wanting to just lay down and die.

Sam wasn't sure why he had feelings like that last one. He'd never had them before. But lately, the thought of a loaded weapon in his hand, completely in his power, was comforting. He'd love to handle one right now, but Dean had locked them all up and spirited away the key.

He wouldn't really hurt himself. He'd just like to see what it felt like ... to do something like that … to point a loaded weapon at his own head. Would he be scared?

Sam belched loudly, then giggled. He reached across the seat and picked up part of the Buick's broken steering column and held the pointy end to his temple.

Nothing. He felt nothing.

"Well that was anticlimactic." he said, and chuckled, tossing the piece of junk into what was left of the Buick's backseat.

He leaned back and sighed, stretching both legs out across the bench seat and crossing them. It wasn't supposed to be a convertible, but whatever accident this clunker had been in, it had sheared the top clean off.

"Sucks to be that guy." Sam mumbled, trying not to picture what must have happened. But with its missing roof, the old car made the perfect, cozy observatory. Sam could lie back and see every star in the clear, October sky from this vantage point.

And that's how he passed out, five beers into Dean's smuggled six-pack and stretched out full-length in a rusted-out carcass on the forgotten perimeters of Bobby's salvage yard.

And hours later, when ominous gray clouds rolled over the moon and blocked out the stars, the sky opened up and freezing sleet pelted down, covering the whole area in a thick layer of ice.

But Sam never felt a thing.

###

Dean straightened up from his examination of the fridge and frowned. "Hey Bobby?"

"Hmm?" the old hunter answered absently, his mind buried in the ancient tome resting in his lap.

"Didn't we have a whole six pack in here?"

Silence.

"Bobby?"

"Hunh?" Bobby looked up from his research, hearing Dean for the first time.

Dean looked over at him. "Where's the beer?"

Bobby shrugged. "I ain't had a beer in two days."

Dean frowned again, thinking, his eyes darting toward the staircase. He really was gonna kill that little shit one of these days. The first winter storm of the season, and here was Dean, stranded and pissed off and ... beerless. .

He roared, "Saaaaam!"

Silence.

He strode angrily to the foot of the stairs, directing his fury upward. "SamMY! You drink my beer?"

Nothing.

Bobby placed his research aside and ambled over, worried. "You seriously think Sam took your beer? Our Sam? You feelin' okay there, kid?"

Dean swallowed back his anger. He hadn't had time yet to fill Bobby in on his brother's antics while the old hunter had been away.

"Yeah, I do, Bobby." he growled, "'Our' Sam turned into quite the little alcoholic while you were gone."

Bobby looked shocked, "What?"

"Dammit. I told him no beer. The kid's poppin' those prescription painkillers every couple hours. He's gonna end up in the damned hospital." Dean started up the steps, but Bobby's hand on his arm halted him.

"Hold up there, boy. If Sam's drinkin' …"

Dean stopped to stare at the older man and sigh. "I know. This whole thing is just eating away at him, Bobby. And I don't know how to make it stop."

Bobby grimaced. "That kid internalizes things like nobody I ever seen." Bobby agreed. Then he amended his statement, "Well, 'cept for one." He eyed Dean purposefully.

Dean snorted, "What? I talk about things!"

Bobby blinked. "Right." He said, not bothering to try and hide the eye roll.

Dean bounded up the steps and burst through the door to the bedroom he still shared with his kid brother.

"Sam! I oughta …"

But the room was empty. No beer. No little brother passed out drunk across the bed. And Dean wasn't sure why, but the feeling that suddenly passed over him was … terrifying. His mouth was instantly dry, his heart pounding.

He'd assumed Sam was up here studying away, but he hadn't actually seen him come home from school.

Hell, he hadn't even seen him leave for school. That damn garage job was taking up all his time these days.

Sam had gone to school, right? He stepped back out into the hall and glanced down the steps to where Bobby stood looking up.

"You see him come home from school?" Dean asked.

Bobby shook his head. "I only been home myself for about two hours. I just assumed he was up there. You see him this morning?"

Dean thought back. No, actually, he hadn't. In fact, he hadn't actually SEEN Sam since last night when they'd had that fight about …

Shit. Dean swallowed hard. "You see his book bag down there?" He made a quick sweep of the bedroom, noting the bag's absence.

Bobby disappeared from view and reappeared a moment later with Sam's backpack, still loaded down with books. "He's here somewhere." Bobby noted. "Kid wouldn't be at school without his books." He looked up at Dean. "Think maybe he's sittin' out in the Impala?"

Dean started down the stairs. "If he is, he's nuts. It's colder than a vamp's heart out there tonight."


	14. Over the Hump

Dean and Bobby stepped out onto the porch, noting that the storm had stopped. Dean shined his flashlight on the Impala. The whole thing was encased in a tomb of ice at least a quarter-inch thick.

It was eerie quiet out.

The two hunters looked at each other, and then Dean rolled his eyes, pulling out his phone. "C'mon Dean." He muttered, not believing that he'd forgotten to try calling his brother. He hit redial on his phone and waited.

And from far off in the distance, they heard it.

Sam's ringtone.

Dean's heart did a little sideways skitter as he locked eyes with Bobby.

"Oh, that can't be good." The older man worried.

The two stepped carefully down off the porch and began working their way cautiously across the ice, Dean dialing and redialing to lead the way.

And when they came upon the old, topless Buick that sat forgotten and abandoned on the very edge of the salvage yard, they shined two flashlights into the wreckage and illuminated Sam. The kid was stretched out in the front seat, his face to the night sky, and his whole body glittered with the sparkle of ice.

"Fuck!" Dean yelled first, breaking into a run.

"Son of a …" Bobby muttered at the same time, following after his boys.

Dean slid to a halt beside the car and reached for his brother's face. The kid was cold. Freezing. There was no ice on his face or exposed hands, but his clothes and hair were coated with it. It was all Dean could do to keep from screaming as he jostled his brother, feeling desperately for a heartbeat.

Bobby skidded up beside him, "Is he …?"

Dean shook his head, "Got a heartbeat. He's not gone yet. Come on, Sammy." Dean coaxed, pulling the kid from the wreckage and tossing him over one shoulder. "Don't you dare do this. You hear me? Don't you dare!"

The small trio of three made its way carefully back over the ice, Bobby moving on ahead to stoke up the fire in the fireplace and to run the tub full of warm water. They'd need to get the kid warmed up and quick, or he'd never make it.

Inside, Dean placed his brother's lifeless body on the couch and set about stripping him down, keeping up a running commentary all the time.

"I got you, Sammy. Gonna get you into a warm bath, okay? We gotta get your body temperature up, man or you're not gonna make it. You hear me, Sam? You with me? We gotta get you warm, man." Dean picked him up just like he had when Sam was a baby and he'd rushed him from the burning house, Sam's long limbs hanging limp and making it difficult to get through the bathroom door.

Dean did it though. He got Sam into the bath in just his boxers and submerged him up to his neck in the warm water. Using a cup, he poured the warm water over Sam's hair, melting and dislodging the ice that coated his brother's mane like candy. Draining and refilling the tub four times, Dean slowly brought his brother back from the brink of oblivion. Sam's color went from a sickly gray to the palest pink, and Dean used a thermometer to get the boy to 98.6.

Still, Sam didn't wake.

Dean and Bobby bundled Sam out of the bath and into soft, dry sweats. They wrapped him in quilts, and Dean sat down on the floor with him in front of Bobby's finicky old fireplace. The warmth coming off the burning wood was balm for Dean's freezing soul.

He just hoped they weren't too late.

When Bobby came bearing a pair of thick, wool socks for Sam's feet, Dean voiced his worries. "He should have woken up by now, right?" Dean pulled the quilt more tightly around the kid and lay a hand on his forehead.

Bobby looked worried. He hovered over the boy, feeling his skin and putting an ear to his chest to hear his heart beating steadily.

"His color's good. His heart's beating nice and steady," The older man met Dean's eyes. "I think we got to him in time, Dean."

"Then why ain't he wakin' up?"

Bobby leaned in and sniffed, "My guess is because he's drunk as a skunk. Smell his breath."

Dean's eyes went huge. He hadn't noticed … he leaned down and took a whiff of Sam's breath and backed away incredulous.

"That little shit. I'll kill him myself."

###

Sam heard voices first. Dean. Dean sounded worried, stressed. And that made Sam worried. He struggled to pull himself up through the fog that clung heavy to his thoughts and weighed his limbs down like they were cast of iron, instead of plain flesh and blood.

Sam struggled to take a deep breath. His chest felt rusty, like it hadn't been used in decades. And his whole body rebelled with the large inhale. He groaned in pain. He felt a weight fall onto the couch beside him.

"Sammy? You there? Talk to me, man."

And Sam tried, but coordinating his thoughts with his tongue was too much trouble. He let out a wordless sigh. It was the most he could manage.

But it seemed to give Dean some hope. Sam heard relief in the other boy's voice as he continued to coax Sam back from the bleak emptiness where he'd been. Sam didn't remember exactly where that was, but he had vague recollections of cold and stars and darkness.

Sam thought that maybe he'd been out there somewhere, riding the cosmos. Maybe piggybacking on a comet or exploring the dark portion of the moon.

"Space." He sighed, and smiled.

And he could hear Dean smiling with him.

"Forget it, Sasquatch." Dean's voice teased him. "I ain't ever giving you space again. You hear me? I give you space and look what happens. You go out and turn yourself into a freakin' Popsicle."

Sam wanted to sleep some more, but Dean was relentless, calling him onward, until at last, Sam felt his eyes open and the fog lift.

The first thing he saw was green. Dean's eyes studied him worriedly, not blinking, not wavering.

Big brother in disaster mode, Sam would recognize that expression anywhere. Something big must have happened while he was away. Where had he been, anyway? He struggled to sit up, suddenly scared, "Bobby 'kay?" he tried to ask.

Dean looked surprised, He pushed Sam back down, cautioning him to stay still. "Yeah, Bobby's fine, geek boy."

Sam wracked his brain, "Dad?" Something must have happened to John to make Dean look that way.

"Everyone's fine, Sam." Dean reassured him. "Well, except for you, little brother. You damn near died."

Sam stopped breathing. What?

"What?" He repeated, confused. When the hell had that happened? He was just riding a comet for heaven's sake.

"Do you remember, Sam?" Dean asked, waiting. From the corner of his eye, Sam saw Bobby approach and smile down at him. The older man handed Dean a mug, and Dean stuck his finger in to test it. He helped Sam sit up enough to take a sip of the sweet, hot coffee.

And suddenly Sam felt such a rush of emotion swell over him that he didn't know whether to cry or laugh. The hot coffee was heavy with cream and sugar, just the way he liked it. The quilts piled over him were warm and soft and comforting, and they wrapped him in a feeling of complete contentment. Bobby and Dean were there, smiling down at him, and Sam could tell, they'd both been worried out of their minds.

And suddenly, Sam knew that nothing could ever touch him in this house with these people who would both give their lives in a heartbeat to save his own. And for the first time in a long time, Sam felt … safe.

He felt safe.

"Dean?" He gazed up at the brother who stared down at him intently.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"I … I wanna talk about it … now."

He saw Dean and Bobby exchange startled glances. Then Dean smiled and nodded down at him. "I'm here, Sammy. I got you. Anything you wanna say, man, I'll listen."

So Sam did.

-The End-

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _Thank you for all the happy reviews. I love hearing from everyone who reads and enjoys my stories. Thanks for your kind words and your endless support._


	15. Epilogue

Sam's voice shook just the tiniest bit as he sat on the couch, holding Bobby's coffee mug in a death grip.

"Sh-she gave me something, I think. I think it was in the punch maybe. She brought us both punch after I said I w-wouldn't leave the dance with her." Sam glanced up at Bobby to see how the older man was taking his words.

But Sam saw no judgment there, just concern. And he smiled, releasing a pent-up breath. He was afraid of how Bobby and Dean would treat him after they found out everything that had … had gone down - how easily she had drugged him and how he'd simply followed her to his doom like a little lap dog.

Sam's face flushed pink just thinking about it.

Dean saw and suffered with him. He placed a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder and smiled that special smile that was reserved for Sam alone. "'S'okay Sammy. Just … just take your time, okay? We got all night."

Sam looked up, desperate. "I thought I loved her, Dean!" He whispered. "I thought … thought … I mean … yeah, she was mixed up, but I thought maybe I could …"

"What, Sammy? Save her?"

Sam shrugged miserably. "I don't know. She was just so … damaged … I guess. I hated that she was so … that someone had hurt her … " He sighed. "I'm all mixed up." His hands holding the mug trembled as he lifted it to his lips in a desperate bid to calm his nerves.

Bobby sympathized with the poor kid. He sat silently studying him, his anger growing at the woman who'd left him so broken.

Sam whispered, "That … the first time it … it happened. I just … it caught me off guard, you know? She shoved me into the janitor's closet and school and started kissing me and her hands were … everywhere." Sam blushed again. "And I mean, it felt good, Dean!" He met his brother's eyes. "I didn't … want it to stop. Didn't want her to stop. I'd never …"

Dean nodded, swallowing hard.

"But then she bit me. She bit my lip so hard she drew blood and it just seemed to … you know … excite her. And then she was pinching me hard all over, and she sucked bruises on my neck, and I just wanted to scream, it hurt so bad." Sam buried his face in one hand, hiding his eyes. "Why did I let her do that? I shoulda' just stopped it right there. But … but she was so pretty and she smelled so … so good … and … and …"

Dean wasn't smiling now. In fact, it was all he could do to keep from shedding a few tears himself. "And what, Sammy?" He asked quietly, trying to help Sam move forward.

Sam looked up, his face wet. "She liked ME, you know? I mean, she coulda' had anybody, but she liked ME." Sam's throat was working but nothing was coming out. He dropped his head in shame.

Bobby and Dean exchanged worried glances over the kid's head. "Sam," Dean started. "You gotta stop beatin' yourself up, man. You didn't do anything wrong."

But Sam shook his head. "I did, Dean. I did do something wrong. I did … it's my … I mean … It's all my fault." He looked up again at Dean, pleading. "And then you were there, and you got dragged into it, and I never meant for you to get dragged in, Dean. I swear! I'd give anything If I could … could go back and do things over again … not follow her like a … like a dog … like I didn't have a mind of my own. I never wanted you to have to see me like that, to have to deal with that."

Dean's eyes welled, "Sammy …" He started, but his voice broke.

Sam met his eyes. "You can say I was drugged, Dean, but I knew what I was doing. At least, some of it. I knew. I knew we were leaving the dance. And I knew she wanted us to be alone, and I remember … remember standing on the sidewalk and just ripping my own shirt open. I did that. She didn't. I … it was just so hot. I was so h-hot."

"That was the drug, boy." Bobby tried to help.

But Sam shook his head. "She promised me." He whispered.

Dean didn't quite catch that. "What?" he asked.

Sam cleared his throat. "She … uh … she promised me. She knew it was our last date, and she wanted to … show me the right … you know. The right way." Sam's face was crimson. "She said she knew she was my … my first … and she was worried that she'd damaged me or something."

Dean said nothing, just rubbed comforting circles on his brother's back. But when Sam looked up again, he had devastation in his eyes. "I wanted it, Dean. I did. She made it sound so good. Like she would make me feel so good. I just … I wanted it. It's all my fault this happened. I knew. I knew and I wasn't strong enough. I wanted what I wanted."

Dean was growing angry. "No, Sam. You wanted what she was sellin' you. You wanted to feel good. No way in hell you wanted what she actually did."

But Sam was silent.

Dean jostled him. "Did you? Did you want to be tied down and have your sight and your hearing taken away and be … be tortured? Did you want that, Sam? Of course you didn't. That was all her. None of that was you, man."

"But I let it happen. You told me not to be alone with her, and I was determined I wouldn't. I swear I was. But then it was so hot, and the air outside was so cool, and she was telling me how good it was all going to feel."

"Right, Sam. That was the drugs she gave you."

Sam didn't reply. He just took another long sip of his coffee to help settle his nerves. He sat staring at the floor. "I'm not … I don't think I can talk about … after."

"After you got to the party?" Dean clarified.

Sam nodded. "I need a tissue." He looked around, searching.

Bobby stood up and moved over to the desk, grabbing the box. "Here." He said, handing it to Sam."

Dean hated this. He hated it. But he knew it was something his brother had to go through. Through it was the only way around it, and if Sam didn't come to terms with his fear, with his helplessness, he was only going to feel worse and worse.

"You can do this, Sammy. You CAN." Dean said comfortingly. "And I wish you didn't have to, man. I really do. But if you don't, it's just gonna keep eating away at you until there's nothing left."

Sam sat still and silent, his hands shaking, his mug empty in his grasp. Bobby saw.

"Here, Sam. Let me top you off." the old hunter said, slipping Sam's mug out of his nerveless fingers and moving to the kitchen. He returned just a moment later with another steaming cup of light-brown coffee, just the way Sam liked it.

Sam took and smiled, taking another long drawl. He leaned forward, holding the cup in both hands between his knees and began to speak. He kept his head down, eyes focused on the floor, as he opened up about what had happened the night of the party.

"When we … we got there, she took us in the back door - through the kitchen. People saw us, but no one said anything. I guess they thought if we knew where the back door was, we must belong there, you know?"

Dean nodded.

She led me downstairs to the … to that … place. There wasn't anybody there, but it was nice. It was … comfortable. There was a mat over in the corner, and we … we … sat down on it." Sam paused.

Dean met Bobby's eyes as they waiting for Sam to continue.

"I … I kissed her. I … it was me that st-started it. We were just kissing, you know, and I didn't know other people were gonna come around, but then, all of a sudden, we were laying down on the mat, and she … she …" Sam's voice hitched.

Dean upped the back rub - just soft little circles back and forth over Sam's shoulder blades to remind him that he wasn't alone.

Sam cleared his throat and continued. "She … um … she took my wrist and strapped it down, and I just went crazy, you know?"

Dean frowned, wondering if Sam had fought, how things had gotten as bad as they turned out.

"I f-fought her. I did. But there was this guy, and she … she had him sit on my arm. He was … he was huge, and he just planted his knee right on my forearm, and I couldn't move, Dean. I swear I couldn't! I tried! He was just so big!" Sam's hands shook so bad, his coffee sloshed over the top of the cup and dripped onto Bobby's new carpet, but none of the hunters noticed.

"And she strapped that wrist down then, and then I was … I knew I was in trouble then. She started talking about how I'd ratted her out to the guidance counselor and how her mom was sending her away and about how terrified she was. She said she'd done this stuff lots of times before with … with other guys, but they'd never, never ratted her out like me."

Dean tried to process everything that Sam was telling him, but he'd gotten stuck on the fact that Ronnie'd had an accomplice - a huge accomplice. And suddenly Dean remembered the man who Joey had sent to fetch him.

"She went and got the … that mask … and it was horrible. I … it was the awfulest thing I think I've ever seen, and then she … she was trying to put it on me, and I was freaking out! Sh-she said once it was on I wouldn't be able to see or hear or speak. S-said they could do whatever they wanted to me, and I couldn't do anything to stop it."

"They?" Dean's heart suddenly dropped several hundred feet to shatter on the ground below.

Sam hitched. He set his coffee down carefully on the end table and leaned forward, burying his face in his knees.

Dean's stricken face met Bobby's, both suddenly understanding with sad certainty that neither wanted to hear what was coming.

"Sammy …" Dean breathed, horrified.

And Sam heard his disgust. He raised his head and looked at his brother, eyes pleading. "I tried, Dean! I swear to God, I tried! I … there was nothing I could do. He … he held me down so she could put the mask on me and then I … I couldn't breathe, and I was sure I was gonna die. And he was … grinning, Dean. The guy … It was the last thing I saw. He thought she was playing. He thought … thought I was acting. She told me that he thought it was a scene, and that I wanted it."

"Sammy. What happened?" Dean's voice was curt. He needed to know how far it had gone, how badly Sam had been hurt before Dean got to him, how …. What that bastard had done to his little brother. "What'd he do, Sammy? You tell me." Dean whispered.

Sam shook his head. "He didn't. Not what you're thinking, Dean. Just … he held me down. He helped her … helped her subdue me. He … he went away pretty quickly. I think he finally caught on that what she was doing …"

Sam took a stuttering breath. "Anyway … that's … I mean, she shocked me after that. And then you were there and I felt you write your name on my hand and … Dean, I was never so … I thought I was dying. Thought I was cut open and bleeding out and you were, you were seeing it all. And all I could think about was how I'd wanted this and now you were the one who'd have to deal with the … the mess. I didn't want you to have to deal with my mess, Dean."

Dean looked at Bobby. The old hunter's face was grayer than Dean had ever seen it, and he suspected his own color wasn't all that great in the moment. Swallowing back the bile that threatened to erupt all over Bobby's new floor, Dean forced a smile in its place. He scooted down off the arm of the couch to sit beside his brother, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"You did good, Sam. You talked about it, right? I knew you could do it, you big geek."

Sam swiped at his face, trying to smile. He gave a nervous laugh. "Yeah, I guess so."

"No guessing. You sucked it up, and you went back there, Sam. You did what needed to be done. Me and Bobby, we know how hard that was, but you didn't fink out, little brother."

Bobby added his own smile to the pot. Placing a grizzled hand over Sam's, he said, "You did good, kid. We're proud of you."

Sam laughed again - a sad, desperate sound. "I don't know …"

"What?" Dean jostled him when he stopped abruptly.

"I don't know if it'll help any with … the fear."

"It will, Sam." Bobby assured him. "You got textbook PTSD. It's gonna take a little time is all. Time and talk. That's what the doctor would order."

"You wanna go, Sammy? To a doc, I mean? There's no … no shame in it." Dean reassured him.

Sam sighed, shaking his head. "I just wanna feel like me again." He shuddered. "I just wanna know that she's gone, and she's never coming back."

"She's gone, Sam." Bobby reassured him. "Deacon and Jody both got eyes inside that place they put her. She's hurt two people already. One more strike and it's prison."

Sam looked up, haunted. "What … what did she do?"

Bobby shrugged, "Same kinda crap she pulled on you. Hurting people and calling it play. It ain't play, Sam. Some of the nicest people I know are into that life, and not one of 'em would ever hurt a fly. She was the exception, not the rule."

Sam stared, "She wanted a slave."

"What?" Dean didn't think he'd heard right.

"A slave. She called me her little slave."

Bobby sat back, shaking his head. "It don't work that way. Wherever she got her ideas … well … she was wrong, Sam. Just know that."

"Hey, Bobby?" Sam asked, looking innocent.

"What, Sam?"

"How come you know so much about it, anyway?"

Bobby's eyes widened, "Uh … well … Sam … I …"

And Dean snorted, clapping his little brother on the back. "Don't go there, Sammy. Just don't go there, man."

And then both boys were laughing, feeling a little bad because it was at Bobby's expense. But then Bobby himself joined in, and that made it okay.

That made it all okay.


End file.
